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His nostrils flared the tiniest fraction and his gaze flicked to the sterling silver Moorish tea set and tray of untouched refreshments set on the table on the other side of the tent. ‘Hydration in the desert is essential. Disregarding it is foolish. Why have you not eaten or drunk anything?’ he growled.
She started to shrug then winced when her sunburnt shoulder chafed beneath the scarf still tangled around her shoulders. ‘I didn’t have an appetite.’
His gaze dropped to the phone. ‘Feeling separation anxiety from your social media?’
Her lips firmed, even though something inside her shrivelled at the confirmation that he’d never believed she hadn’t sold him out to the tabloids. ‘No. But I would like mobile service...if it’s possible.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there are people waiting to hear from me.’
His gaze grew a touch icier, his body stiffening further. ‘Such as?’
She licked her lips, unsure why she felt as if a lot rested on the answer to this particular question. ‘My parents? Matt?’ The ice receded a little but not enough to make her breathe easier. When he merely continued to watch her, she cleared her throat. ‘But now you’re here, can we talk?’
‘I’d rather not engage with you while the threat of dehydration looms.’
Before she could take proper stock of what he was doing, he was striding to the antique desk set in one corner of her tent. The bell he picked up rang only twice before a young man entered. He relayed instructions and the servant nodded with a smile and hurried away.
‘What was that all about?’
He poured a glass of water, strode back, and held it out to her. ‘Drink.’
Her lips pressed tight. ‘I’m aware I’m here by your favour but I really wish you wouldn’t toss commands at me like I’m a dog,’ she snapped.
‘We all wish for things we can’t have, Miss Winchester. I don’t wish for your foolishness in not taking care of yourself properly to inconvenience me. If you pass out from dehydration or heatstroke, it would be most unwelcome. Drink.’
Put like that, and accepting how parched she was, Lauren took the glass from him, extremely careful not to touch him in the process.
As he’d made stingingly clear, there were some things she had choices about. Igniting the spark that had flared to life so effortlessly between them every time they’d so much as breathed the same air twelve years ago wasn’t a theory she wanted to test again. Because she suspected the results would be staggering.
Unwilling to meet those mesmeric eyes, she looked around, secretly seeking signs of a woman’s presence.
Tahir was purportedly single. But single didn’t mean he wasn’t involved with a woman. As her body seemed determined to keep reminding her, he was virile, a pillar of masculinity who could probably satisfy a dozen women without breaking a sweat—
No. She absolutely wasn’t going to think about his virility. Or his charisma. Or the way his body had moved within hers with power, pleasure, and mastery once upon a time.
‘Is there a reason you’re staring into the water instead of drinking it?’ he drawled lazily.
She jumped, silently cursing when the liquid sloshed over her fingers. Averting her gaze because she didn’t want to see his mockery at her clumsiness, she transferred the glass to her other hand, and started to shake her soaked hand. Only to startle again when firm hands grasped hers, a handkerchief appearing from nowhere.
And as she’d feared, she had her confirmation.
Fireworks shot through her bloodstream, dancing along her nerve endings with gleeful abandon, uncaring that they’d robbed her of breath. Uncaring that she had to grit her teeth to bite back the tiny moan that crowded the back of her throat. That her nipples and very sex had grown tight with a need only he had been able to trigger in her.
Damn him.
He seemed in no hurry to dry her fingers. His gaze was low and hooded, fixated on dragging the rich linen over her knuckles.
‘Drink, Lauren.’ The order was low. Thick. Implacable.
She lifted the glass and drank. Every last drop. Welcomed the quenching of her thirst and kicked herself for being unable to resist his effect on her. When she was done, he took the glass, his eyes pinned on her as he deliberately trailed his fingers over hers, as blatant at touching her as she’d been careful to do the opposite. His very gaze dared her to object, to protest how much he affected her.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the blaze searing inside her while projecting cool composure.
Lauren wasn’t sure who won their battle of wills. But abruptly, he dropped her hand, took her glass and refilled it.
‘Slower this time,’ he intoned deeply again.
