Page 92 of Sands of Atonement

I tilted my head and held in a laugh.

“I couldn't care less if you sleep or not. You’re going to be by my side with my hand around your neck and one arm around your waist in case you get any funny ideas. I’m not taking a chance. I don’t trust you. Get on the floor.”

Her lips parted, and then she slammed her jaw shut. I also left my weapons out with my horse.

I didn’t feel like dying in my sleep tonight.

“You are… so… so…”

My lips curved at the sight of her being so flustered. She was going to learn today, I repeated myself.

Eshe huffed and lay down, the tent getting darker by the minute. I brought out another wool blanket and dropped my heavy body near Eshe’s. As a man of my word, I placed my rough hand around her soft, delicate neck, pulling her close to my body. My other arm, under her body, held her waist to me.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape. I don’t feel particularly in the mood to be chasing you in the dark.”

I felt her pulse flutter beneath my palm, and I resisted the urge to brush it with my fingers.

I inhaled deeply, preparing for a long night, only to have her jasmine scent fill my nostrils.

Eshe moved her hips and shoulders to find a comfortable position while her body was pressed against mine.

My muscles tightened.

I thought about everything I hated in that moment: broccoli, sandstorms, and losing control.

I felt a twitch between my legs.

She moved again.

“Don’t. Move,” I said between gritted teeth, pulling her closer.

“I’m. Not. Comfortable.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“You’re not comfortable, which is causing me to not be comfortable. So really, this is all your fault,” Eshe hissed.

“My fault, hmm?” I rolled my eyes, knowing she couldn’t see it. “I’m not surprised.”

“Yes. If you weren’t so tense. Your arms feel like iron. How do you expect me to sleep on metal?”

I took another deep breath, hoping to relax my muscles, only to regret it again. Her fucking hair was in my face, and I could smell her. It was intoxicating. It was too much.

“It’s your fucking hair⁠—”

She turns over to face me. “Do not blame my hair—this is on⁠—”

My eyes glared into hers, her words tapering off as I leaned forward. “You’re testing me, Eshe.”

And I meant it.

I heard an audible gulp. “You told me you don’t want me dead,” she whispered.

“That’s not what I’m implying,” I whispered and glanced at her bottom lip.

God, was she really that naive?

Her eyes widened slightly in understanding, and she turned back the way she was. Her mouth closed. She didn’t move again.