Below, a thick, scarred belt cinched battered leather trousers to a narrow, driven waist.
His thighs were vast and solid, tapering into massive moccasin boots planted with certainty in the sand.
His skin had the sheen of burnished caramel, warm even in the fading illumination.
Dark and gold sigils crossed his neck, arms, and hands, interwoven with scars that spoke of violence survived.
On one side of his chest, an inked eye shifted, unsettling and alive.
She blinked, once, then again, her senses struggling to keep pace.
The impact deepened as he took more strides toward her.
His hair fell in a long spill of deep black threaded with flashes of sapphire and aureate, catching the light as they moved over his shoulders.
The same metallic hues traced his dark beard, framing a strong jaw and a mouth shaped with unguarded intent.
High cheekbones cut clean lines beneath a broad brow shadowed by dense, uncompromising brows.
Then his eyes met hers.
They arrested her outright, their depths silver flooded with gold, lit from within by arcs of contained power.
Their heat swept across her skin, traveled down her spine, and settled in the core of her body.
The hell?
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs as she scrambled to her feet, sediment falling away from her in sheets of red and gold sand.
She stepped back on instinct, wavered, then steadied herself, not wanting to fall flat on her face.
He narrowed his eyes, a flicker of roiling energy sparking in their depths.
She raised her eyebrows right back, matching his intensity with a glare that she hoped hid the fact that she was seeing two of him.
They stood locked in a silent, high-stakes stand-off, the desert wind whipping between them.
He held her stare with a terrifying patience until finally, the exhaustion won.
Sheba let out a long, ragged sigh, her shoulders slumping.
She was stranded, concussed, and outgunned by his massive forearms alone.
His lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk, and he slowly raised his hands in mock surrender, palms open and exposed.
Fokk!Was he surrendering to her? Sweet mother of Pegasi.
Without warning, her vision clouded as shards of pain skewered her psyche.
Her balance failed, the world tilted, and her knees buckled.
He caught her before she hit the sand.
The contact sent a shock through her system.
His touch was calloused, warm, steady, unyielding, closing around her arms and back with a control that spoke of restraint rather than possession.
Her body reacted before her mind could intervene.
