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Seated on a wide cushion with a subtle floral pattern of dark reds and greens, piles of pillows, cushions, and throws surrounding her, Seraiah pet the silky fabric covering her thighs while taking bites of a delicious cured meat, seasoned with exactly the right amount of spice. There was an outrageous amount of soft material piled around the tent, but then, cats — including cat-men, it seemed — appreciated comfort.
“You done whispering over there?” she asked Zarin as he walked back into their tent and kicked off his shoes, leaving them by the entrance. Feeling magnanimous thanks to the good food and dry clothes, she patted the cushion next to her and popped a sweet grape into her mouth. “Come. There’s plenty of food.”
He fastened the tent’s flap, separating them from the others. She heard his security team moving around outside as they settled into position, but the act of closing their tent up felt as if Zarin was wrapping them up in their own little cocoon. Between the pounding rain on the wide arch protecting their recessed space, the high walls surrounding them, and the rovers fanned across the entrance, it was like they were isolated from the world outside, just the two of them.
Her skin prickled, sensing the nascent thread of possibility connecting her to him.
Undoing the top three buttons of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves, he settled on the cushion beside her, all of his attention focused on her. A flush rose up her neck to her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very exposed in her borrowed pjs. Practically naked, no underwear, just a thin barrier of fabric shielding her. Her nipples pebbled under the soft silk, the hard nibs standing proud without a bra. He’d see them as soon as he took his eyes off hers. What would he think? Did she care if he noticed her nipples? She fought the urge to hunch her shoulders and instead offered him a glass of wine.
He took it with a nod of thanks, spinning the glass by its stem, the light gold liquid inside refracting in the cut crystal of the glass. “An excellent inaugural wine from a new vineyard I discovered.” He took a sip, swirling the wine in his mouth before swallowing. “Light and crisp, with the barest hint of florals and citrus.” Tipping the glass towards her, he said, “One of yours, I believe.”
Her blush deepened. How did he know about that? “Not mine, really,” she said, trying to cool herself down with a sip of wine. “I’m not a vintner.”
“Perhaps not. But I’m given to understand it was your idea,” he said, lounging on a pile of pillows, his body curving towards her, ankles crossed, his feet bare.
Maybe it was because she was on her second glass of wine or because her concussion still lingered despite the meds, but she couldn’t resist. Giving into impulse, she reached over and pulled a lock of his auburn hair through her hand to see if it was as silky as the pajamas she had on. It was. She let it go as soon as she realized he was staring at her like a falcon watched a bunny rabbit, her entire body tingling with an awareness of his proximity.
Clearing her throat, she said, “It was a matter of sustainability and climate control. Olive trees and grape vines are self-pollinating and thrive in similar climates. We decided that, since the olive trees were thriving, planting grape vines using traditional methods could be beneficial.”
His brows drew together. “There is no ‘merely’ about it, darling. Pairing the olives and grapes together was a masterful move,” he said, his tone filled with praise. “Too many of the old ways, the kind of techniques and knowings that benefit the whole of a people and their nation, rather than only the richest and most powerful, were abandoned over the last decades. It’s good to see brilliant people such as yourself bringing them back and making a difference.”
When she opened her mouth to counter, to protest that she was neither brilliant nor masterful, only determined and obsessive, he waggled a finger at her. “Seraiah, you are indeed a master at what you do. Do not diminish your accomplishments or the impact you’ve had on the entire Cywillana Oasis.”
She cocked her head. “Is that the reason you abducted me? Because you want me to help you with your trees? Because I’m of use to you?” She hated how small her voice sounded in her ears. She should have realized it wasn’t because he was overcome by her beauty and had to have her. This wasn’t some fantastical romantic story. No, it was because she read a few books and figured out how to get trees to thrive in the changing climate of their planet. She drew her knees up to her chest.
“Yes,” he said, “Originally, I took you because I need you and your expertise to save our sacred olive grove.” He gave her a long look, studying her. Selecting a bite-sized cracker from the basket, he loaded it with a slice of soft cheese and a piece of salami.
Her heart — that stupid, hopeful hunk of muscle — sank. She should have expected as much. Of course, he only wanted her for her knowledge and what she could do for him. Of course, the pull she felt towards him was only on her part. How dare she reach for someone more than the clammy-handed goat farmer? She rested her forehead against her knees and tried to keep the tears at bay.
“But that’s not why I’m keeping you.”
Her head snapped up. “What?” What did that even mean? Like, until he got what he wanted out of her?
What if he feels the same pull of connection as me? a tiny voice hiding in the recesses of her mind asked. What if he truly means forever? Her heart thumped harder at the idea, an impossibly tangled combination of disquiet, concern, hope, and possibility warring within her.
He paused, lifting one regal eyebrow. “You heard me,” he said, his silken tone holding a bit of a growl.
Squeezing her arms tight around her legs, she watched him reach across the table for various ingredients as he assembled his snacky masterpiece. No matter his declarations, what she needed to ask herself was would she mind being kept by him, even if for a little while?
She nibbled her bottom lip. No, she decided, distracted by the flex of his muscles under his shirt and the strength of his forearms. She had no doubt he wouldn’t be all clammy hands fumbling beneath her skirt. No, this was a man who knew how to use what the gods gave him to please a woman. Her skin tightened at the idea.
“So, you say you’re keeping me.” That declaration was so wild, so beyond the boundaries of today’s modern society and yet, it ignited something primal deep within her. But I should push back against this at least a bit, right? After all, I did jump out of a moving vehicle to escape him. I can’t do a complete 180 so soon after that. She cleared her throat and gave him her best glare, the one she used to drive off the cousins when they were jumping on her last nerve. “Why? What gives you the right?” There. Resistance. If I’m actually thinking about making the most ridiculous, impulsive decision of my entire life, we can’t start with Zarin thinking he’s going to get his way without a fight.
Besides, it wasn’t like she could run away at the moment anyway, not with the storm. The canyon was probably flooded by now. And it was dark. And cold.
The look he gave her was filled with delicious promise. “Oh, Seraiah, my little tree nymph. I’m keeping you because you are intelligent, quick-witted, brave, and so fucking beautiful I want to tear off those pajamas hiding the curves of your delectable body from me, sink my cock into your heat, and give you an orgasm that makes you scream loud enough to rival the thunder of this storm.” Then, as if he hadn’t said the hottest thing anyone had ever said to her in her life, he returned his attention to the cracker, picking up a tiny silver spoon to top it with a tiny dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of finely chopped chives.
Her entire body was in flames at his words, her synapses firing madly. She opened her mouth to let loose a snappy retort, but realized she had no idea how to respond to that. No one had ever promised her loud orgasms or told her she was hot enough to warrant clothes-ripping, especially not someone whose very presence made her heart beat faster and sent sparks of desire zinging through her body.
So instead, she took a giant gulp of wine, hoping the alcohol might dull the vision that flashed into her brain of Zarin’s naked body damp with sweat as he pumped into her, his dick stroking over exactly the right spot that no one she’d been with was capable of finding without detailed instructions. But he would. Of course he would. Fuck, she thought, swallowing hard. The wine didn’t help.
He held his cracker — a damned work of art — out to her, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Besides, I am king. What is the point of all that pressure and those endless meetings if I don’t get what I want? And I want you.”
She hesitated, feeling as though if she accepted his treat, she was tacitly giving in to him.
Take the leap. What do you have to lose? her greedy little heart whispered. If nothing else, you’ll walk away at the end of this with at least one king-given orgasm and a wild story under your belt. Plus, a pair of ridiculously soft pajamas. Would that be so horrible? Slowly, she reached forward to accept the loaded cracker he offered.
He pulled it out of reach, tsking as he waggled a finger at her. “No hands.”
