Virgin Seduction

cloud that wouldn' t let him forget. It's not me. It's not me. It's Suki and the foal that's made her happy, not me.

Happy? What about that? Was she happy? Whether it was Rueben and Betsy's clan, or Suki and her foal that had made her so or not, right now it sure as hell seemed as though she was. Uncertainty filled Cade's belly. His resolve to undo this crazy marriage, based as it was on the justification that Leila wasn't and could never be happy with him, trembled…

She stopped in the stable long enough to fill a can with grain for Suki. Cade stood in the doorway of the stall and watched her cross the grassy paddock, graceful as a nymph in her long wraparound skirt and sandals, T-shirt knotted at one hip, dark braid swaying as she walked. She approached the dappled gray mare confidently, murmuring in a musical language he assumed must be Arabic. How exotic she is, he thought. And yet…somehow she wasn't. That sunny paddock, beautiful gray mare and beautiful woman, spindle-legged black foal butting at her back…Cade had never considered himself a connoisseur of art, but he thought if someone were to paint this scene, it would look incredibly beautiful…and exactly right.

'She thinks I am her mother,' Leila said to Cade as he joined her, laughing as the foal again butted impatiently at her hip. 'Because I fed her with a bottle. No, no, little one, you must drink from your own mama now.' And she bent down to encircle the foal's neck with her arms and press her face to the fuzzy black hide.

The hollow feeling in Cade's belly pushed into his chest, and he struggled to haul in a breath for which he had no room. 'I've been thinking,' he said, and because it was a lie-the idea had only that moment come to him-his voice was scratchy and filled with gravel. Still cradling the foal, she looked up at him, waiting with bright and expectant eyes. 'I haven't given you your bride gift-what do they call it?-the mahr?'

She nodded, frowning a little. 'The mahr, yes.'

Cade tipped his head toward the foal. Nerves jumped in his belly. 'She's yours, if you want her. For your bride gift.'

He was unprepared when Leila sucked in air in a cry that sounded more like grief than joy. Unprepared, too, for the tears that suddenly glistened in her eyes. She looked so stricken, in fact, that he tried to apologize. 'I know it isn't jewelry, or money-'

'I have no need for jewelry or money! Oh, Cade-she is so beautiful-this is the most wonderful bride gift-more wonderful than I ever dreamed of.' She buried her tear-wet face in the foal's coat, then as quickly was smiling up at Cade again. 'I will name her-may I name her?'

'She's yours,' Cade said gruffly. 'You can do anything you like.'

'Then I will name her Sari,' she said with a fierce, impassioned joy. 'In Arabic it means, 'most noble.'' She turned to face him squarely then, smiling with a radiance that took his breath away. 'Thank you, Cade. Thank you for my bride gift.' And she stepped forward, put her hands on his unshaven jaws, and kissed him.

Chapter 9

Her lips were warm and soft, but with an enticing little bite to them that he recognized, even in that moment of shock, as Rueben's chili. But there was something else, too, a salty coolness he knew could only be tears. It was that as much as anything, he thought later, when he was capable of it again, that reminder of her vulnerability, the fragile state of her emotions he'd violated once before, that made him stiffen when she touched him. That made him hold himself rigid while his insides quivered with unanticipated longing, his arm muscles tensing until they ached with the control it took to keep from wrapping them around her.

'You're welcome,' he said as he took her by the arms and held her where she was, a few critical inches away from him. Any closer, he knew, and he'd never be able to resist her. If he let her body touch him he was finished. 'I'm glad you like her.'

His thoughts were as bleak as his words were gentle, and as uncompromising as his touch. It's gratitude, nothing more. It's the gift-it's the horse she loves, not me.

* * *

I don't understand him, this man I have married, thought Leila. He seemed so kind…yes, even sweet- Kitty had been right about that. But at the same time, so distant it seemed impossible that she would ever know or understand him.

What if I can't? What if I never do?

The thought filled her with the cold emptiness of panic. She could not endure such aloneness for long. And what must she do then, go running back to Tamir, to her mother and father, like a little child with a bumped knee? To even think of such a thing made her cheeks burn and her heart quicken. No-I cannot. I will not go back.

No, she was not ready to give up. Not yet.

Tonight, she had decided, she would try again to seduce her husband. Except…no, she did not think seduce was exactly the correct word. She had looked it up in her English dictionary, and it seemed to mean that she would be trying to make Cade do something bad. What could be bad about a man making love to his wife? No- she did not like this word, seduce. Not at all.

So, what would she call it, this business of trying to make her own husband desire her? And more important, how could she accomplish it? She had not had any success at being pushy, so it was clearly time to try something else. But what? Leila was not accustomed to having to work to get her way. All her life she had been the baby of the Kamal family, the palace darling. All that had been required in order to wrap her family and servants around her little finger was to flash her dimples, be her winsome and charming self.

Be herself. Was it possible? Could her own winsomeness and charm be enough to win over such a man as Cade? Leila didn't know, but since nothing else seemed to be working, it was definitely worth a try.

Yes, she thought, watching herself in the bathroom mirror as her small white teeth pressed into her lower lip and her dimples magically appeared. Tonight… .Tonight, she would make herself so appealing, not even Cade would be able to resist her.

* * *

Cade was accustomed to fixing his own Sunday evening meal. He'd eat it alone in the kitchen, sometimes standing at the counter, or, if he'd remembered to pick up a Sunday paper, at the table in the breakfast room with the sports and business sections spread out in front of him. Tonight was no different, except that he had company.

Leila had come in while he was filling his plate from the array of covered containers and foil-wrapped packages Betsy had left for him, looking scrubbed and delectable in a belted robe the soft pink of wild roses. He'd tensed automatically when she first appeared, armoring himself against her appeal and gearing up to do battle with the unwanted desire for her that was beginning to gnaw at him like a hunger in his belly.

But she hadn't made any attempt to touch him again, or even get close to him, leaning instead against the counter and nibbling strawberries while she chattered on about the day she'd had. He thought he should have found her presence annoying. He wished he did. With all his heart he wished he didn't enjoy the sound of her voice so much. He wished his mouth wouldn't water at the sight of those soft lips of hers lush with strawberries.

She followed him into the breakfast room and sat down across the table from him, so he never did get to his newspaper. Instead, while he ate he listened to Leila telling him all about swimming with the children at Rueben and Betsy's, and how much she'd enjoyed meeting all the Flores family. She asked him all sorts of questions, and seemed so interested he told her everything he knew about Rueben and Betsy-how they'd grown up together in the same small village in Mexico, had married as teenagers and come to the United States not long after that, like so many others, to find work. How they'd been lucky enough to both find jobs with the same estate, Betsy as cook and