She didn’t answer, but she turned to him again. He saw it, that same control come over her, like she fought an urge to be reckless, to smack him or tell him to bite his own tail. He could see her thinking, figuring. He realized then that she was a very smart woman and not just a beautiful one.
He liked her.
Then something changed in her, suddenly, like a storm. Michel felt it instantly, her edges turning to curves. Truly, she had a siren’s call, and his body responded to it before he could control himself. The pressure in his chest, the tightening in his gut, a twist of lust going right down into his groin. Her body was looser now. He was aware of her shape, her scent—black currant, an orchard of citrus—in a way that invited too many problems.
She stood in front of him, looking up, her dark golden hair rippling in streams down her body. She pawed her hands across his chest, each touch sending a little jolt. He watched her, aware his breath had quickened.
“Why did you buy me?” she said, still watching, words soft. She invaded his space, took it over.
“I didn’t really buy you,” he said, swallowing.
She bit her lip, lightly this time, enticing. “You knew what you were doing,” she sighed. “You say you just wanted to help, but you knew what exchanging money with that man would do. That it would bind me to you. You had to know.”
“I wanted your safety. I didn’t want to have to kill a man in the street to get it,” Michel said, his own voice softer.
She paused, pressing closer, letting her body lean into his. “Did you want me, Michel?”
He felt that dangerous muddling again, looking at her, hearing her say his name. She was undeniably beautiful. “I wanted to help you.”
“That’s not why you bought me,” she purred.
She was right, he knew. Though he wanted to argue and claim his intentions had been pure, she had addled his brain upon first sight. Right now, feeling her soft heat against him, all he could think about was what it would feel like to throw her down and enjoy her on the bed beside them. He wouldn’t. It would be hell to stop himself from thinking it, though.
He took the opportunity to touch her, even as he warned himself against it, and he trailed a finger down her arm, still watching her. She had a draw, a pull he couldn’t resist.
When his fingers reached her hand, she gripped it, pulling it up before her. Her eyes, green and brown, a swirling mixture of East and West, were still on him. She rubbed her thumbs into his palm, holding his hand between them. Then she parted her lips.
All he could see were her lips. He wanted to kiss her. Was dying to kiss her.
He dropped his head, his resolve flying away, but Eve moved instead, opening her mouth and angling his hand. She took the tip of his finger, touching it with her tongue. Then she drew his finger into her mouth. With his other hand, Michel reached up to grab the back of her hair, holding her in place, his heart either frozen or beating so fast he couldn’t track it. Eve gasped and then closed her lips around his finger, letting it slip over her tongue.
A flash of heat engulfed him from the inside out, centering on where her mouth held him. His brows came together, and his own mouth fell open as he watched his finger sink to the back of her throat. It didn’t matter that he towered above her, that he had the strength or the title. He knew, in that moment, that there wasn’t much that would keep him from giving this woman whatever she wanted.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through him, causing him to release her body and hop into the air. He cursed at the pain before he even knew what had happened. He grabbed his hand and saw his wet finger with red tooth marks all down the side. He looked at Eve, who had backed up a step. She was standing in place, her face flushed, hair in a mess from where he had held her, a breathless smirk on her face.
“To be clear, I will not be that kind of servant,Monsieur,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I will be happy to fold your towels.” She glanced at him, her words weighted. “At least, until we reach France.” She turned to his travel bag and dumped out the contents. She returned to organizing his things.
For the second time that day, he stood there gaping.What the hell just happened, he thought, massaging his throbbing finger.
She probably shouldn’t have done that.
Later that evening, she was still thinking about it. Eve lay on the bed in the yurt, turned away from her keeper, with the taste of his skin still on her lips.What had she let happen?
She toyed with a rag in her hand, but she kept her body still, not wanting to invite any more interaction from Michel now that they had finally stopped bickering long enough to settle down for sleep. She had allowed an intimacy between them, one she didn’t trust. Yes, she felt she could safely control this man. He had a gentle nature, and she didn’t fear that he would demand anything of her.
The problem was going to be controlling herself around him.
Growing up with six older brothers, Eve was never surprised by the fits of men, and she considered herself quite proficient in being able to gently prod their egos into doing what she wanted. In fact, she’d never been at a loss for someone to do her bidding her whole life. She outwitted them easily, and her father always commented on how she may have been the youngest, but she had always been the one in charge.
Things changed for her when her brothers began to marry. First, Dzhambul, her eldest brother, was married, and he was closely followed by Esen, the second eldest. The next three did the same in succession. When she had been taken from her home, her last brother was preparing for his wedding. As her brothers entered into courtships and marriage vows, she had seen them each controlled, in a way, by the woman they married. She noted how these strong, intelligent men whom she loved and respected would be angry, despondent, irrational—and how one trip to the bedroom would restore their senses. Though she knew her brothers would never stop loving or caring for her, Eve quickly recognized that her own position in their lives had diminished, and their wives held a very different kind of power over them.
Eve had filed this information away. She knew one day she would be a wife—it was her duty to her family and tribe—though she never wished for that moment to come any sooner than necessary. So, on days when the men warred or planned, she spent much of her time listening to her elder sisters-in-law talk of the things they did to her brothers. They would speak in hushed tones, though they would talk in a way to ensure each would hear, trying to outdo each other without crossing the line. Men may have their challenges to assert dominance, but so do women.
Through their twittering, Eve began to understand the way certain intimacies could sway a man. She had never needed this weapon before. Her own intuition and cleverness were enough to get what she wanted out of people. Then suddenly she found herself alone and running for her life, with none of the protections she had become accustomed to, with danger close behind her, in the care of a Frenchman who didn’t want to bring her to France.
When the Frenchman denied her request to go with him to France, she decided to experiment. She changed her body. She changed her tone. She changed hertactic. Michel changed, too, in an instant. She felt his desire fill the room, flames of it pressing on her from all directions, from his body against hers, his hand in hers, his other hand in her hair. He may have been trying to control himself, but his want for her was obvious. What upset her, however, was how quickly her body responded. His desire called to hers, causing her edges to fray and for strange, debilitating tremors to run through her body. In that second, Eve realized that she might not have all the control.
So, she bit him. And everything stopped.
