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Kaliah sat beside a newly built fire, the simple outfit of jeans, boots and a T-shirt doing nothing to disguise her long legs and small but perfectly formed breasts. Her tawny skin—glided by the firelight and the gathering twilight—glowed with health and vitality.
The heat surged in his groin and he let out a harsh grunt. So much for the long day spent away from her, and the cold swims. Her head swung round and their gazes locked. He smelt it then, the aroma of cooked meat and spices.
Had she made supper for them both?
Something he did not really understand pressed against his ribs. He had many chefs at the palace in Zokar who could conjure up the most delicious dishes. And then there were the servants at his home in the foothills of the tribal lands. He had employed them primarily to cook for him. Because he had gone to bed hungry so many nights as a boy, he had promised himself one day he would always be able to afford to have the best food, the richest food, whenever he wanted it.
But no one had ever cooked for him before now, without being paid to do so. And he certainly had not expected such domesticity from Kaliah, when she probably still hated his guts.
He took in another lungful of the spicy aroma. In truth, he was also astonished she knew how to make a meal in the desert—perhaps she wasn’t as pampered as he had assumed.
She stood as he approached the fire and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans in a nervous gesture which made the worn cotton stretch over her breasts.
He studied her face, expecting to see anger. Her expression was flushed and wary, but there was no fury in the crystal blue.
‘I figured it was my turn to make us supper,’ she offered, surprising him even more.
He nodded. ‘It smells good.’ He forced the words out past the dryness in his throat, aware that this was the first conversation they had had without rancour since their first night.
Her tongue flicked out to lick across her bottom lip, the gesture one of nerves. But still he felt the shock of arousal. The tension ramped right back up again, but this time it was as exhilarating as it was frustrating.
‘Take a seat,’ she said, gesturing towards a place on the other side of the campfire. ‘And I’ll serve you a bowl, so you can tell me if it tastes good too.’
He didn’t want to sit so far away from her. But the truce—after so much animosity—felt too fragile to test, so he did as she asked.
It occurred to him, as he hunkered down and watched her intently while she ladled a generous helping into one of the earthenware bowls, he had never shied away from rancour or animosity before. He was used to fighting for what he wanted and was more than prepared to meet fire with fire, confident in his ability to do whatever was necessary to win.
But he’d used brute force to get her here four days ago. And for once the process had left him with doubts he had never experienced before. Doubts not so much about the result—he would never have left her alone with a sandstorm forecast—but rather the method. He was still convinced it had been necessary, but could he have used more finesse, more subtlety? Did he even know how?
He had never been a particularly erudite man. And he had no experience of flattering or cajoling women, especially women who required more than what he could offer them in bed. But the fact he had taken her choices away from her had left him feeling oddly unsure every time she had glared at him as if she wished to peel his skin from his bones.
Her virginity had disturbed him greatly once he had discovered it—for the simple reason he had convinced himself it would mean they must marry. But, over the last three days, something else about her virgin state had begun to disturb him a great deal more. Why had she chosen him as her first lover? Why had she trusted him with something so precious, when they were virtual strangers?
And had he done enough to deserve that trust? The thought that he must have done only concerned him even more. Because her trust felt like something precious he had earned unwittingly, and then discarded far too easily the next morning in her father’s office with his demand for marriage... And which he had ultimately broken beyond repair with his decision to take her from her homeland.
He took the bowl from her, absorbing the ripple of reaction as their fingers brushed.
She scooted back around the campfire to sit on her allocated rock, rubbing her palms against her jeans. He dipped his head and concentrated on digging his spoon into the fragrant stew to hide the smile curving his lips.
Why was he complicating this? Desire was the reason she had chosen him—the chemistry they shared had been obvious from the start. The only difference was she had no experience of such a connection. No ability to deny it.
But you’ve never felt a connection this kinetic and all-consuming either. And you have a great deal more experience than she does.
The smile died as he shovelled a spoonful of stew into his mouth and the rich, earthy flavours burst on his tongue.
Stop over-thinking this. She is precious. But this relationship is about sex, first and foremost, and necessity.
He spent the next five minutes eating, letting the heady flavours fill his belly and ignoring the tender space that had opened inside his chest at the thought she had made this meal especially for them. For him.
Kaliah Khan was no fool, and as he finished off the stew, scraping the last of the gravy from the bowl, it occurred to him what this truce was really about.
It was a bribe—pure and simple. But her wish to barter was something he could use. Because communication was always better than silence when it came to negotiations.
With his belly pleasantly full, and the flicker of firelight making his skin pulse and glow, he dumped the empty bowl into the water vat he kept by the fire and stretched out his legs.
Their gazes connected again and he let the desire charge through his system unchecked as his gaze roamed over her.
‘That tasted as good as it smelled,’ he murmured, his voice husky with hunger of a different kind.
