Page 34 of The Desert King's Kidnapped Virgin
And this woman dared to sit therebeamingat him, as if he had offered her gifts instead of the kind of marriage she was supposed to find horrible.
“You wish to choose your own rivals?” He made himself laugh. “Let me guess. You think you can rule over them that way.”
It was proper protocol to wait for the monarch to take his seat and taste his food before anyone else dared, but naturally Hope did as she liked. She broke off a piece of flatbread from one of the platters arrayed before her, then dipped it into a bowl of hummus flavored with garlic and tahini. She popped the bite into her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment, another example of that sensuality of hers and the way it infused everything.
The way it infusedhim.
It made his entire body clench tight.
And he wanted to believe that she did this deliberately to toy with him—but he could not quite make himself accept that. Hope seemed too unselfconscious. As if she didn’t much care if he stood before her, watching her, or not.
He could not understand why that made his hunger for her all the more intense.
When she opened her eyes again, her golden gaze looked merry. “I don’t believe that these women would be rivals at all.” His disbelief must have showed on his face because she smiled. “It sounds like fun. Built-in friends and no one has to feel as if they do too much of anything. All of the labor is shared. Isn’t that the point?”
“That is not the point.” He folded his arms over his chest. “A man shows his wealth and might to the kingdom by the number of wives he is able to support. And then again, by the number of sons he has.”
“So a mighty fortress and calling yourself King of this and Lord of that doesn’t do the trick, then?”
“I tire of these games of yours,” he gritted out.
But he was not tired. And she did not look at all chastened.
So Cyrus lowered himself to the cushions, and lay back. Then he waved a peremptory hand before him. “I think it is time you dance for me, wife. As is only fitting.”
She went still, her hand hovering over the flatbread. For moment, he thought she might balk.
Did he want her to? Was that the point of this?
But in the next moment, she smiled. “I would love to, but I’m terrible. The women have been wonderful teachers and everyone agrees that while I’ll never be up to the standard of a girl who’s been doing these dances since birth, I should be competent enough in time, and potentially less embarrassing, too.”
“Dance,” he told her, gruffly. “Do not speak.”
He knew as the words left his mouth that he wanted her to argue. Because he already regretted asking for this. Because when she moved, the silk moved with her, like a man’s caress.
And when she got all the way to her feet and stood before him, there was no pretending that his hunger for her wasn’t taking him over. It was.
There was no pretending that there was anything cold or calculating about this.
He was so hungry for her it nearly hurt.
“I still think it’s weird that there’s no music for this,” she told him, when he could hear nothing but music in his own head.
He shook his head, but the music kept on. “Dance anyway.”
She laughed a little, under her breath. But then she began.
And perhaps Cyrus had intended for this to snap him out of the spell he seemed to be under where she was concerned.
Perhaps he had thought that alone, without the other women to surround her and encourage her, she would be nothing but awkward and lose some of that brashness he found so baffling.
Perhaps that was what he wanted.
But instead, this woman he had taken to wife and had only kissed the slightest bit for his trouble, closed her eyes.
The way she did when she intended to enjoy something to the full, God help him.
And slowly, she began to roll her hips this way and that, making the silk dance around her.
