Page 99 of The Moon's Fury
“Do you have bamboo cloth?” Soraya whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Jamil was heading toward them.
“Newlyweds?” the woman asked with a toothy grin. Moons, Soraya hated her. Her cheeks heated. The shopkeeper’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Newlyweds,” she said to herself, nodding. The woman grabbed several strips of thick bamboo cloth and stuffed them at the bottom of the bag. A begrudging gratitude bloomed in her chest for this small act. “Do you needsilpharoonleaves? I just got a new batch.” She furiously shook her head.
As Jamil counted the coins, the woman kept her hawk eyes fixed on Soraya. “Have you been to Senta before? Something about you seems … familiar. I can’t place it.”
Soraya shook her head. “First time.”
“Shame,” the woman tutted. “Should’ve come sooner. You missed the harvest festival.”
Jamil handed her the money, and the woman grunted her thanks.
They exited the shop, Jamil carrying her bags, and continued their trek to the inn. They had only passed two streets when Jamil froze, a panicked “Fuck”leaving his lips. Before Soraya could formulate a question, he grabbed her arm and yanked her into the alley.
He dropped the bags on the ground, his eyes panicked.
In the next heartbeat, Soraya found herself pressed against the stone wall, Jamil’s large, muscular body caging her in.
Her breath left her in a whoosh.
She lost the ability to string together a coherent thought. His firm chest was unyielding against her, and his large hands gripped her thighs, bringing one up to wrap around his hips.
Her eyes widened, and she found some words.
“Jamil, what—”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, green eyes frantic. His hot breath fanned against her lips. “There’s a man heading our way, he’s—he’s going to recognize me.”
His fingers tightened on her thigh.
Her heart beat furiously against her ribs.
“How do you know him?” she whispered.
“He gave me my scar.”
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Soraya’sdarkeyeswidenedin understanding, and his tense shoulders relaxed a fraction.
Perhaps she wouldn’t hate him after this was over.
He just hoped the leader of the Senta Gundaari didn’t look too closely at two lovers sharing a private, heated moment.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, pressing his face into her neck, turning away from the mouth of the alley. Soraya swallowed, and he felt her throat bob against his lips.
Jamil couldn’t think.
Her soft curves fit perfectly against the planes of his body, and he found himself pressing harder against her.
He dragged his nose up the column of her neck, skimming her cheek, bringing it to rest on her temple.
Fuck, she smelled incredible.
Her hand traveled up the length of his back and tangled in his hair, while the other fisted the fabric of his tunic. She was panting, and the rise and fall of her chest against his was maddening. He buried his face in her neck again, savoring her earthy scent.
If he were a better man, he would have stayed still.
He would have listened and waited for the Gundaari to pass, then released her.
