by Shayla Black
He swore and shook his head. “You’ll have to turn with it.”
“Like this?” She obeyed, pivoting in front of him. He nodded, then pulled the silk taut, letting the tail of it collect on the floor as she slowly spun before him. Around and around and around, her springy brown curls dancing as she turned, the beads threaded through the strands twinkling under the soft lights of the bedroom.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
In some primitive part of his brain, he was the conquering desert warlord and she was his mesmerizing captive. His irresistible, stolen prize. He watched her spin, watched the ribbon of scarlet silk unwind, revealing more and more of the beautiful woman wrapped inside.
He wanted to keep undressing her.
When he looked at Seraphina, when he breathed in her cinnamon-sweet scent and felt the warmth of her skin with each dizzying turn she took in front of him... Damn him, but being near her like this, there was so much he wanted.
The drumming beat of her pulse vibrated in the small space between their bodies, and it made his own blood throb in answer. It made him hunger in a way he’d never fully known.
It made him want to burn the pact between their families and take her right here and now, willing or not.
Claim her.
Possess her in every way.
Make her his.
Dangerous thinking.
And a temptation he wasn’t at all certain he would be able to resist.
Not for this one night, let alone seven more.
CHAPTER 7
She didn’t know the exact moment when the air between them changed from simply hot and playful to something darker. Something so fierce and powerful, it made all of her nerve endings stand at full attention.
Jehan wanted her.
She’d have to be an idiot not to realize that.
She wanted him too.
And she was too smart to think for one second that he hadn’t picked up on her staggering awareness of him as a man. As a dangerously seductive Breed male who could have her carotid caught in his teeth just as swiftly as he could have her legs parted beneath the driving pound of his muscular body.
Sera swallowed hard, her breath and heart racing as she slowed to a stop before him.
She glanced down, to where she was tethered to his strong hands by the unraveled length of red silk.
Although she was covered where it counted, there wasn’t much of her dress left. Most of it lay on the floor at her feet; yards of scarlet pooled in the scant space between her body and Jehan’s.
She licked her lips as she struggled for words. She should tell him to go, but everything female in her yearned for him to stay. She was no trembling virgin, no stranger to sex. But never with a Breed male. And the electricity that crackled to life between Jehan and her was something she’d never felt before.
It was arresting.
Consuming.
Terrifying in its intensity.
Yet it wasn’t fear of him she felt when she held his piercing light blue eyes. It was fear of herself and of the way he made her feel. Fear of the things he made her want.
“Jehan, I...” She shook her head, unsure what she meant to say to him.
Leave?
Stay?
Forget the fact that neither one of them had come to this place willingly, nor intended to walk away from the archaic tradition with a blood-bonded mate?
But that’s not what this moment was about.
What she saw in Jehan’s amber-swamped gaze right now didn’t have anything to do with their romantic surroundings or the expectation and hopes of their families. The things she was feeling had nothing to do with any of that either.
It was desire, pure and simple.
Immediate and intense.
Her body throbbed with it, longing pounding furiously in her breast and stirring a molten heat in the center of her. She drew a shallow breath—then held it tight as Jehan reached out to caress her cheek. His warm fingers felt hard and strong against her face, but he stroked her with such tenderness, she couldn’t hold back the soft moan that spilled past her lips.
She stood rooted in place while her thoughts and emotions spiraled with rising anticipation.
The cool air of the room made her exposed skin feel even tighter. Her nipples ached behind the gauzy ribbons of silk that barely covered them. Goose bumps rose on her naked shoulders and arms with each second she endured under Jehan’s hot, unwavering stare.
His fingers drifted away from her face slowly, then skated in a scorching trail down the side of her neck and onto the line of her left shoulder. She felt him trace the small red birthmark that rode her bicep—her Breedmate mark. His fingertips caressed the teardrop-and-crescent-moon symbol that signified she was something other than simply human.
That mark also meant that if she drank his blood, she would be bound to him and only him, for as long as either of them lived.
As if in answer to his touch, her veins vibrated with a primal quickening, pulse points throbbing in response to each tender stroke.
“You are...so incredibly beautiful.” His deep voice was a growl of sound, tangling through his teeth and fangs. “But we made a deal, Seraphina.”
She knew they had a deal. No looking. No touching. No physical contact of any kind. They had set clear boundaries and established separate corners where they could cohabitate for the week without having to spend any awkward time together. When the handfast was over, they would simply say their good-byes and return to their normal lives.
So why was she wishing so desperately that Jehan would pull her into his arms?
Why was she longing to feel the press of his muscled, hard body against her?
Why was the coil of smoldering need within her winding tighter, all of her nerve endings on fire and eager for more of his touch?
Eager for his kiss and everything that was certain to follow...
But he didn’t kiss her.
A snarl curled up from the back of his throat. An animal sound. An otherworldly sound.
One of denial.
He shook his head, sending the thick waves of his dark hair swaying where they brushed his broad shoulders. His hand dropped away, down to his side. On a slow exhale, he stepped back, creating a cold vacuum of space between them.
He stooped to pick up the pool of red silk from the floor. He was retreating, yet when his gaze lifted to hers, his eyes still blazed with fiery desire, so hot it seared her. His fangs still glittered razor-sharp and hungered behind his lips.
He wanted her. It was written in his fierce expression and in the arousal that made itself obvious when she glanced down at the sizable bulge tenting his loose linen pants.
And he knew that she wanted him just as badly.
She could see that knowledge gleaming in his arrogant, knowing stare.
Damn him. He knew very well, and he was enjoying her torment!
He placed the mound of silk into her hands, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Seraphina.”
He pivoted back toward the door. Then he strode out of the room without so much as a backward glance, leaving her to stare after him, half-dressed, fuming, and determined to avoid the infuriating ass for the duration of her confinement with him.
CHAPTER 8
For the next two days, he hardly saw Seraphina.
She spent her evenings behind the closed door of the massive bedroom suite, pointedly ignoring his existence. During the daytime, she slipped outside to the villa’s sunbaked patio for hours on end, safely out of his reach and about as far away from his company as she could get.
She was pissed off, punishing him with frosty silence and deliberate avoidance.
Exactly as he’d intended when he’d left her high and dry—and as sexually frustrated as he was—that first night.
Better to earn her contempt than test his control under the desire-drenched heat of her gaze again. Her absence was a reprieve he welcomed. Better that than trying to withstand the tem
ptation of her enticing curves and infinitely soft skin, now that he knew the pleasure of both.
Fuck. He’d only touched her for a few moments and the feel of her was branded into his fingertips. Her warmth and cinnamon-sugar scent was seared into his senses.
Even though she was out of sight now—rummaging quietly in the kitchen, by the sound of it—all he had to do was close his eyes and there she was in his mind. Standing in front of him in nothing but a few scraps of scarlet silk, her parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes inviting him to touch her. To take her.
No, pleading for him to do so.
But he’d shown her, right?
Pretending he was the one in control, denying both of them the pleasure they both wanted because he’d been too swamped with need to trust he could control himself. Now she was going to great lengths to ignore him, no doubt cursing him as a cold bastard. Meanwhile, he was walking around the villa like a caged animal with a semipermanent case of blue balls.
Damn.
He wasn’t only a bastard. He was an idiot.
On a curse, he raked a hand through his hair and got up from the large floor cushion where he’d been unsuccessfully attempting to doze. It was just about sundown and he was twitchy with the need to be moving, to be doing something useful. Hell, he’d settle for doing anything at all.
He’d never been good at inactivity and the boredom of his exile was driving him insane.
More than once, he’d thought about slipping out in the middle of the night to run off some of his tension. Or say fuck the handfast and hoof it all the way to Casablanca and take the earliest flight to Rome.
With his Breed genetics, he could make it to the city in about as many hours as it would take to drive it. Maybe sooner.
Tempting.
But he couldn’t leave Seraphina by herself out here. And as much as he wanted to get back to work going after Opus with his teammates at the Order, he wasn’t about to abandon his honor or his family’s by violating the terms of the pact.
If she could endure the week together and adhere to the ridiculous restrictions imposed on them by the ancient agreement—in addition to their own set of rules—then so could he.
And he supposed he really owed her an apology for the way he acted the other night.
Padding silently on his bare feet, Jehan strode toward the kitchen where he’d heard her a minute ago. She had her back to him, seated on an overstuffed sofa in the adjacent dining nook.
With her knees drawn up and her head bent down to study whatever she held in her hands, she didn’t even notice him stealing up behind her from the kitchen. At first, he thought she’d taken one of the many books from the villa’s library. But then he realized the small object was something else.
A phone.
In direct violation of the “no communication with the outside world” terms of the handfast.
The sneaky little rebel.
He opened his mouth to call her out on the breach, but then his acute sight caught the last few lines of a text message thread filling the display. Some guy named Karsten was asking her where she was and why she’d left him without saying where she’d gone. He was worried, he said. He needed her. Said he wasn’t any good without her.
For reasons he didn’t want to examine, the idea that Seraphina had another man waiting for her somewhere—that she wouldn’t even mention that fact to him at any point when they talked—sent a streak of anger through Jehan’s veins.
That she would look at him so wantonly the other night when this other male—what the fuck kind of name was Karsten, anyway?—obviously cared about her, needed her, made Jehan wonder if he’d read her wrong from the start.
Of course, she’d already confessed to him that she only agreed to participate in the handfast to collect a handsome payout at the end. So, why should it surprise him to realize she was already spoken for?
“You’re breaking the rules.” His voice was low and even, betraying none of the heat that was running through his veins.
She startled so sharply, the phone practically leapt out of her fingers. She scrambled to keep it and whirled around on the sofa to gape at him in horror.
“Jehan! I didn’t hear you come in the room.”
“You don’t say.” He gestured to the phone now clutched tight to her breast. “How’d you get that in here?”
She had the decency to look at least a little contrite. “I made Leila smuggle it in with the clothing she packed for me. She didn’t want to, but I insisted. How was I supposed to go an entire week completely cut off from everything?”
“And everyone?” Jehan prompted. “Who’s Karsten?”
Her face blanched. No need for her to ask him if he saw her texts. Her guilty look said it all. “He’s my partner.”
“Partner?” He practically snarled the word.
“My coworker. Karsten volunteers with me at the border camps.”
Some of Jehan’s irritation cooled at the explanation. “For a coworker, he sounds very eager to have you back. He’s no good without you?”
Her expression relaxed into one of mild dismissal. “Karsten is...a bit dramatic. Right now, he’s concerned about a food and medical supply shipment that’s being held up at a checkpoint near Marrakesh. Normally I make sure things clear without delays, but unfortunately this shipment didn’t come in until after my parents called me home.”
“What happens if the shipment doesn’t get cleared?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “The food will rot and the medicine will spoil. It happens all too often.”
“And this Karsten is unable to retrieve the supplies without you?” Jehan couldn’t mask his judgment of the other man. If necessary food and medicine were sitting somewhere waiting to be delivered, he’d make damn sure it got where it needed to go.
Seraphina slipped off the sofa and walked to the marble-topped island where Jehan stood. “A lot of times, when things are delayed like this, my father’s name helps loosen them up. Sometimes, it’s a matter of finding the right palm to grease.”
Jehan nodded. Corruption in local governments was nothing new. That Seraphina seemed comfortable navigating those tangled webs was impressive. She kept impressing him, and he wasn’t sure he should like it as much as he did. “What do you think will free up this shipment of supplies?”
She shrugged faintly. “Does it matter? Karsten hasn’t been able to get them on his own so far, and by the time our week is out here, it’ll be too late. Food and medicine doesn’t last long in the desert.”
No, he supposed it didn’t.
But maybe there was some way to fix the situation.
“You say you know the checkpoint where the supplies are being held up?”
“It’s on the outskirts of Marrakesh. A lot of our materials pass through that same one.”
Jehan considered. “That’s only a few hours away from here by car.”
“What are you saying?” She frowned. “Jehan, what are you thinking?”
“Let me borrow your phone.”
She handed it over, still staring at him in question. Jehan entered his brother’s number and waited for him to pick up. It took several rings, then Marcel’s confused voice came over the line in greeting. “Hello?”
Jehan got right to the point. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Jehan? What the hell are you doing calling me? And where did you get the phone? You know there’s supposed to be no technology or outside communication—”
“I know,” he bit off impatiently. “Where are you right now?”
“Ah...I’m home, but I’m getting ready to head out for a while. What’s going on? Is everything all right with Seraphina?”
“She’s fine. We’re fine,” Jehan assured him. “I need a vehicle. As soon as possible.”
Marcel gasped. “What?”
Seraphina’s eyes went about as wide as he imagined his brother’s had just now.
“It’s important, Marcel. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn�
��t.”
“But you can’t leave the villa. If you leave Seraphina alone out there, you’ll be breaking the pact. Hell, you already are just by making this call to me.”
“No one will know I called except you.” Jehan glanced at Seraphina and shook his head. “As for breaking the pact by leaving her at the villa without me, not happening. She’s coming with me, and we won’t be gone long. No one will be the wiser.”
“Except, once again, me.” Marcel groaned. “I probably don’t want to know what any of this is about, do I?”
“Probably not.” Jehan smiled.
Marcel exhaled a curse. “Please tell me you don’t want my Lambo.”
“Actually, I was hoping for one of the Rovers from the Darkhaven fleet. With a full tank of fuel, if you would.”
Marcel’s deep sigh gusted over the line. “Does Seraphina realize yet what a demanding pain in the ass you can be?”
Jehan met her gaze and grinned. “I imagine she’s figuring that out.”
Marcel chuckled. “I’ll drop it off at sundown.”
CHAPTER 9
“Careful with that crate, Aleph. Those glass vials of vaccines are fragile.”
Walking across the moonlit sand with her arm around one of the children from the refugee camp and a box of bandages held in her other hand, Sera directed another of the volunteers to the open back of the supply-laden Range Rover. “Massoud, take the large sack of rice to Fatima in the mess tent and ask her where she’d like us to store the rest of the raw grains. Let her know we have some crates of canned meats and boxes of fruit here too.”
Behind her at the vehicle, Jehan was busy unloading the crates and boxes and sacks they’d just arrived with from the checkpoint near Marrakesh. Sera couldn’t help pausing to watch him work. Dressed in jeans and a loose linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his glyph-covered forearms, he pitched in like the best of her other workers. Even better, in fact, since he was Breed. His strength and stamina outpaced half a dozen humans put together.
She still couldn’t believe what he’d done for her tonight. For a village of displaced people he’d never met and didn’t have to care about. All of the indignation and anger she’d felt toward him since their first night at the villa evaporated under her admiration for what he was doing now.
