I hand him the shirt—he is smirking at me.
He shrugs into the shirt. “There. Snug as a bug in a rug.” He winks at me, a slow teasing droop of one eyelid. “Now. Snuggle in, babe. You’re safe, I promise.”
Reluctantly, I remove my shoes, set them aside, and shift down into the sleeping bag. It is like a cloud, so soft, so warm. His jeans for a pillow are a bit rough, but better than the ground. Immediately, I doze, drift.
When I look at him through one sleepy eye, he is sitting up still, feet stretched out past the fire.
Later, I wake briefly. He has not moved. His head is back against the rock, eyes closed, his hat turned around so the brim is now tugged down over his eyes.
Yet, when I stir to a different position, he nudges the brim up with a finger, eyeing me. He is not sleeping.
He is watching over me.
2East or West
Kane
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous.
Not to sound like an artsy-fartsy puss-bag, but her bone structure is fuckin’ exquisite. Angelic, delicate…just absolutely exquisite. Her eyes are wide and dark, and maybe it’s the makeup, I dunno, but her eyes are these endless pools of black, deep and emotive and open.
She’spure.
Clueless as all fuck, but pure.
That outfit, though. Goddamn. She has to be wearing atleasta hundred grand in jewelry, and that’s a guess from a man who don’t know dick about jewelry. It’s all gold, all thick, and that piece draped down the middle of her head and resting on her forehead has to be worth a fortune. Shit, the ruby in the center’s probably worth a hundred grand on its own.
Again, I don’t know shit about this stuff, but her outfit looks like a very traditional Indian ceremonial thing. Complicated, elaborate, expensive. Swaths of rich crimson trimmed in what’s probably real gold cloth. Gold bracelets, armbands, earrings. Woman is wearing a fortune.
She could be wearing rags, you couldn’t miss how beautiful she is.Shemakes the clothes, not the other way around.
I doze and keep an ear out. I don’t figure anything dangerous will come near the fire, but I ain’t taking that first chance. Plus, she’s hiding it like a champ, but she’s scared shitless.
Dawn creeps on slowly, and then hits all at once, in the way of deserts.
With the sun comes heat, and the brilliant sun.
Anjalee wakes up, stirring, sitting up, looking around in confusion for a moment. Her eyes go to me. “Good morning, Kane.”
I give her a smile, because looking at a woman like her, can’t help but smile. “Mornin’ darlin’. Sleep all right?”
She stretches, and thank fuck she’s wearing my jacket, because it hides what a stretch like that must do to her body, and something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate me ogling her. “Surprisingly, I did. I would not have thought the ground would allow me to sleep so well.” Her deep dark eyes go to me. “And you?”
That accent, shit. It’s not pronounced or thick. Just a delicate lilt to the vowels, an exotic curl to certain consonants, an alluring emphasis to certain syllables. Hot as fuck, is what it is. Also, I don’t miss the fact that despite the accent, she speaks English more properly than I do, in a way that speaks of an expensive education.
I grin. “Like a log, sweetheart.”
She frowns, an adorable scrunch of her nose. “You are lying to me. You did not sleep at all.”
I rise to my feet, peel the thermal off. “Used to missin’ sleep. I can go days, if I gotta.”
“Days? Without any sleep at all?” That phrase, “at all,” the way it comes out of those sweet, plump, kissable lips, fuck—ahT-UHL.
The bounce, the pop of theTsound, the swirl of her tongue around theL.
An accent shouldn’t turn me on, but hers does.
She hands me my rolled jeans, and I reroll the thermal into them, shove the bundle into one of the saddlebags. When I turn, she has the jacket off and rolled exactly the way I’d roll it, flat, neat, even, and tight.
