Page 7 of Over the Emerald Valley
“Oh, stuff it, Ottah, you bowlegged banshee,” Temaj huffed. “You’re just jealous Abasi doesn’t make me service you.”
Solon blinked. Thought back. He’d been asked,How do you want him dressed?
And he’d said…uh-oh. He’d saidnothing, hadn’t he? But he’d only meant he had no preference, not that Temaj should wear nothing.Cow’s foot!
“I may have misspoken,” Solon admitted somewhat sheepishly. He should have been more careful.
Temaj rolled his golden-brown eyes and flung a look of distaste at Ottah. “You’ve seen me to his room. Your job is done. Shoo.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a different concubine?” Ottah ignored Temaj and addressed Solon. “Qeb perhaps? He’s soft-spoken and bashful, much more compliant than Temaj. I’d be glad to show this one back to his quarters and bring you a more docile guest.”
“If by ‘show me back to my quarters,’ you mean pin me against the wall and hope I don’t scream too loud, you have another thing coming, you son of a—”
“No!” Solon grabbed Temaj to hold him back from whatever attack he was planning. “No, thank you, Ottah. Temaj will do just fine.”
Temaj slammed the door in Ottah’s face with a look of triumph.
Solon let him go and gulped a breath. What had he gotten himself into? He pressed a hand to his temple and rubbed.
Temaj spun slowly to face him, his gaze assessing as he scanned Solon from head to toe. He prowled forward. “You clean up well.”
Solon shuffled a step back. “Uh, thank you.” How was it this slave had him on eggshells in his own rooms?
Temaj didn’t stop in his advance, forcing Solon to hold his ground until they stood toe to toe, sizing each other up. Solon was the bigger man. Taller, broader, heavily muscled from his years of service. He was older too, twice Temaj’s twenty-some years. But if any of this intimidated the concubine, it didn’t show in his fierce expression.
Temaj narrowed his gaze. “You really didn’t mean for me to be paraded through the palace naked?”
“Really, I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“You should take care to speak more precisely in the future when giving orders,General.”
And there was that tone again. Derision, though perhaps a speck more playful this time. “You seem to have no aversion to speaking up yourself, yet you made no protest.”
“In front of my master? I wouldn’t dare.” Temaj ran his hand down Solon’s bare chest. “Abasi is a tolerant man in most circumstances, but no man is that tolerant.”
Solon stopped Temaj’s hand with his own before the slave could reach the fabric of his skirt. Temaj’s wrist was a delicate thing, his pulse fluttering beneath Solon’s fingers. “You wanted to be chosen tonight. You volunteered yourself. Shamelessly, I might add. Why?”
Temaj gave a casual, one-shouldered shrug and let the borrowed robe fall open in the front, watching like a hawk to see if Solon’s eyes tracked the movement.
But Solon wouldn’t be so easily swayed. He kept their gazes firmly locked, ignoring the skin on display. Temaj could easily be Abasi’s spy. This might all have been premeditated, and they’d played him like a lute.
“Why?” he repeated when Temaj offered no answer.
“Perhaps I simply find you appealing? Is that so hard to believe?”
“Pfft,” Solon scoffed. He was no catch, his body riddled with scars from combat, his face beginning to wrinkle with age, his skin splotched from years of sun.
But Temaj’s appreciative gaze said otherwise.
Oh, this slave was good. He knew his job well. It was nearly impossible not to respond to such a hungry look, such open desire written in Temaj’s expression, but Solon wouldn’t fall for tricks. If Abasi wanted to know Solon’s motives, he’d have to pry them out himself, not send a concubine to do the work for him.
“That’s quite enough.” Solon dropped Temaj’s hand and dodged his grasp. “Though I appreciate your master’s generous offer, I’ve no need of your services tonight. I wish only to sleep.”
Temaj furrowed his brows. “What?”
“Stay as long as you wish, say whatever you like about what happened in these rooms. I care not, but I won’t be taking you to bed.”
Robe open, weight on one leg, hands on hips, Temaj was the picture of irritated confusion. “And why not? Am I not good enough for the pharaoh’s fancy general? You couldn’t possibly stoop so low as to fuck me?”
