Resentment stirred, but he shoved it away. He would not taint this moment with regrets, but she deserved a plush bed with silk sheets, flowers, and a warm bath. He might not be able to provide a tub, but he could clean her up.
He counted to three, gathered his strength, and pushed off the bed. Her eyes flew open. “Where are you going?”
“Not far.” He padded across the room, retrieved a basin of clean water and the cloth, and returned.
“What are you doing? The slightly sated and sleepy gleam in her eyes was replaced with uncertainty.
“Don’t you trust me?” He’d meant it to be lighthearted and teasing, but there was a serious undertone that she couldn’t miss.
She glanced aside but nodded. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but he’d take it. He set the basin down and set about the most pleasurable task of cleaning her. “Let me take care of you.” It was a fundamental need that stirred deep in his soul. Not waiting for her agreement, he started at her face, drawing the cloth over her forehead and cheeks.
With a sigh, she relaxed on the bed. “That feels good. It’s stuffy in here.”
He’d open the windows and prop open the door when they were done. He wasn’t ready to be done with this special time alone. Her neck was slender and delicate. Her shoulders were strong, her arms muscled. It surprised and pleased him that she lay there and let him do as he wished.
Her breasts came next, the nipples tight and begging to be kissed. After dragging the cloth over both, he leaned down and kissed one and then the other. She moaned and arched upward.
“There’s not enough time.” The regret sat heavy on him.
“I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”
This was a woman used to grabbing small moments of pleasure when she could and appreciating them. In that, they were matched. His upbringing had taught him the value of cherishing such times.
Wringing out the cloth again and again, he wiped the sweat from her torso and legs before delving between them to clean away the evidence of their lovemaking. There was no blood, for which he was grateful. She was an active woman who’d never had a lover but had seen to her own needs. Because of that, she’d found pleasure in their lovemaking.
When he was done, he rinsed the cloth and dragged it over his face. “Let me.” Jamaeh kneeled up on the mattress, took the rag from his unresisting hand, and wiped it across his neck.
Everything inside him stilled. No other woman had ever tended him before. After sex, he’d always taken himself away before finding a gel cleansing unit or water. This was a first.
She licked her lips as she cleaned his chest, teasing his nipples as he had with her. He wanted to kiss those plump lips, but that would lead to more lovemaking. His cock flexed in joyous agreement, but his head cautioned that someone would be coming for them soon.
Her tongue flicked over a flat nipple, drawing a deep groan. He didn’t tell her to stop. He didn’t have to. As he had with her, she moved on, cleaning his stomach and legs before returning to his cock.
“You’re still hard.” The wonder in her voice almost broke his resolve, but there was only time for a quick fuck, and this was all new to her. She was too tender for that.
“You inspire me.” The smile she gave him made the pain in his balls and the discomfort worth it.
“Really?” She lightly stroked the cloth over his turgid length.
He caught her hand, stopping her before he came in her hand. “Really.” Dropping a quick kiss on her sweet mouth, he stood and drew on his battlesuit. Fastening it wasn’t easy with his dick getting pinched. He kept his gaze off Jamaeh as he pulled on the rest of his clothes.
She gave a soft sigh, climbed off the bed, and dressed. When she was done, he took her in his arms and hugged her. “I wish we could stay in bed,” he whispered. “I wish I could hold you all day and night and love you again.” She should have had that, should have demanded it. Did she think this was nothing more than sex for him?
She softened against him for an all-too-brief moment before pushing away. “We should drink all the water and eat something. We don’t know how late the feast will be.”
He understood her need to get things back on an even keel, but that didn’t mean he liked it. After strapping on his weapons and straightening the covers on the bed, he grabbed the basin and returned to the table where she was already unpacking the food that had been brought to them.
After he’d gotten rid of the basin, he cupped her chin. “This isn’t over.” The kiss was possessive and hard, his tongue staking a claim. She grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him closer, both of them losing themselves one final time.
When they parted, he pulled the emotional and mental cloak of assassin around him. It was the only way he could get through this and protect her.
All expression drained from her face. She gave him a nod and pointed at the table. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter Thirteen
The feast was in full swing, the women on one side of the fire, the men on the other. Jamaeh watched Zaxe through the dancing flames, drawn to him like a bee to a flower. She took a sip of sweet mint tea to hide her smile. Or maybe it was the other way around. He was more bee than flower, ready to sting if attacked.
Sitting cross-legged on a woven mat, she pushed away the empty bowl in front of her. “You have had enough?” an older woman named Saria asked.
“Yes, thank you. It was delicious.” The stew had been rich with spices, the broth thick and hearty, which she’d sopped up with spicy flatbread. Their hosts certainly hadn’t held back on the meal, even though they’d likely dipped into their precious food resources.
She understood pride, the need to put a good face forward. “How long have you lived here?”
The older woman pushed a strand of graying black hair behind one ear. “Too long.” She peered up at the stars twinkling in the night sky. “Twenty years. After the death of the last ruler.”
That was interesting. It was ingrained in her not to ask questions. If she did, that opened the door for others to ask them of her in return, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Why did you leave?”
“Lomar Zaxurus is not the leader his older brother was.”
When she said no more, Jamaeh carefully prompted, “I have no memory of Dagmar Zaxurus.”
The woman patted her hand. “You are young. Why should you worry about such things? They are in the past and better left there.”
Respecting the woman’s wishes, she looked over at Zaxe again and found him looking at her.
“Your young man keeps a close eye on you.”
It seemed incomprehensible that anyone would call him a young man. The weight of the ages seemed to rest upon his shoulders. “It’s not like that with us.” No matter how much she wished it might be.
The woman frowned, and Jamaeh tensed, waiting for disapproval. A woman did not travel with men not of her family or not intended for her husband. The trading caravans were used to her. And if they didn’t exactly accept her, they tolerated her, accepting payment to join the safety of their group when she traveled and traded. These people didn’t know her. Then the old woman finally shrugged. “Whoever he is to you, he guards you as the hawk does his prey.”