“Yes,” he growled. “That.” And his lips were on her, hard against her. All of him was hard against her. What was he doing kissing her out here where anyone could see? He just couldn’t help it. Any attention from her, any chance to touch her, he couldn’t stop himself. What in the world was he going to do with her? Eve was not the kind of woman that he would be able to move on from. Just standing in the street, tasting her lips, feeling her yield to him while he stroked his hand through her hair made him forget everything in the world. Her lips, her scent, her body, her words, made him understand addiction. As soon as he dealt with this cashmere nonsense, he was going to figure this out. His duties mattered less and less. He just wanted to make Eve a permanent part of his life.
He pulled back to look at her. A needy whimper escaped her lips, and it almost caused him to push his way up her skirts in the middle of the alley. He groaned, feeling weak, blurry from the kiss. He wanted to take so much more, but he also didn’t know what she had endured in the past, before she had escaped her situation. “Listen,” he said, the warm desert air now separating their bodies and the soft desire building between them. “I want you to know…you don’t have to do that.”
She looked at him but didn’t say anything.
“I mean, I loved it,” he said. “Your mouth.” He reached up to draw a line down her jaw with his thumb. “On me.” Then he shook his head again as his body wanted to remember. “I know why you did it.”
She continued to watch him. “Why did I do it?” Her voice was teasing still, but he recognized the sober note to it.
“You think I’m going to abandon you.” He gripped her side as he said it. He wanted to pull her to him again but didn’t because he wanted her to see his sincerity. He continued, his voice low. “I’m not, Eve,” he said. “I don’t care who is coming after you, or what you did. I’m not going to leave you behind.”
She watched him with a serious expression on her face and nodded. “Thank you, Michel,” she whispered.
He wanted to kiss her again, to keep kissing her, but he feared he would sink into her lips, here on the street, and never be able to stop. So, he took her hand and pulled her back to the alley. They continued to walk, hands together. “If you should decide to reward me again, though…” he looked at her playfully. “I will take any scraps you throw my way.”
She laughed at this. Then she looked at him and shrugged. “I guess you'd better keep your blade sharp then,” she said, still smiling.
He stopped, causing her to pause and look at him. He brought her hand up to his lips and placed a kiss in her palm. “You’re going to need to tell me more, though. Soon, I hope.”
“Yes,” she conceded. “You are right.” Then she took a big breath and let out a sigh. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Michel nodded at her. “I understand, but I can’t protect you if I don’t know who’s coming.”
She nodded. “I know.” Then she looked up and gave him a smirk. “I sure am worth the trouble, though, aren’t I?”
He held his arms out, his hands open, and he smiled at her. “Absolutely,” he promised, sure of the words.
ChapterEighteen
Borjigin marched across the camp of the tribe that had taken his daughter. His two eldest sons and his advisor, Khuyag, were behind him. Borjigin hated this tribe. They were petty and difficult, clinging to the old traditions with an obsession that threatened the existence of his people. Of all the far-reaching tribes Borjigin commanded as Khan, this one angered him the most.
But before war, one must yell.
They followed a short man who scampered, seeming to fear upsetting the Khan as he took them to the il-khan’s yurt. This tribe was still fully nomadic, but their camp had settled for the spring. Borjigin noted the family yurts and the center camp area where they would have gathered for the fated wedding celebration that caused his daughter’s disappearance. Borjigin could hardly control the simmering anger he felt at her treatment.
When they reached the yurt at the center of the camp, the short man called out to the leader inside. Once he was acknowledged, the man held the heavy felt door for Borjigin.
“Nokhoi khori,” he said, spitting out the traditional formality of calling off the dogs when entering a home. Borjigin alone entered, thinking he would love it if the il-khan set dogs on him. It would give him the opportunity to release his violent energy.
“Borjigin Khan, I am honored to have you in my ger,” Timicin, the tribe’s il-kahn, said, his words carefully reverent.
Borjigin allowed the traditional greeting as they gripped each other’s forearms.
“You’ve come far. Sit. Drink,” Timicin said. He offeredsuutei tsaitea with both hands.
Borjigin glared at the man as he accepted the cup and took a small sip out of tradition, though he wanted to spit on the floor. He had known Timicin most of his life. He was a vicious leader with a sharp tongue, but he knew his place.
“I am sorry we must meet under these circumstances,” Timicin said. He stroked his long, black and silver beard as he sat down. “I had hoped to meet again in celebration of the connection between our tribes.”
“You have caused my daughter to go missing,” Borjigin said, taking his seat. His voice even, body still. The only way he could control himself was to control everything.
He held out his hands, as if to hold Borjigin’s anger at bay. “Your daughter has killed the man who was her husband. A warrior of my tribe. By theYassa, I could attack rather than sit with you in my yurt.”
“You attack me? After taking my daughter and letting her become lost?” Borjigin glowered. “Do so, Timicin. I beg you to give me respite.”
Timicin dropped his gaze. Borjigin knew Timicin would bark like a small, angry dog, but when challenged with real power, would always back down.
Borjigin breathed in and released, letting his nostrils flare, letting the act settle him. He spoke, “The ancestors did not support her kidnapping, or she would be here now.”
