The houses were lit up inside, but there were few people on the streets.
“Can you guess where we’re going?” Zaira asked, no urgency in her tone and her hand trustingly in his.
“Yes.” The squad owned a home in this village, part of their network of bolt-holes for those who needed to go under. Oddly enough for such a small town, it was a great place to hide. “My father told me this village was founded by rebels hundreds of years ago,” he said. “While they are welcoming, the people ask no questions.”
“An interesting cultural tradition.”
“A useful one.” Walking with her down a narrow alleyway lit only by the lamps hung up on a balcony above, he said, “I assume the home is empty right now?”
“Yes, and no one will disturb us tonight.” Zaira leaned her body against his.
His own body tense with an anticipation that was all the deeper because he knew the taste of her now, he led her to the door of the Arrow home and coded them in. The house was in the same simple style as those around it, made from the red sandstone prevalent in this region, but its hidden security features were of the highest grade. Entering, he turned on a wall sconce, then locked the door behind them.
When he led Zaira upstairs to the bedroom, she walked to the balcony doors and opened them to reveal the two lanterns that hung on stands outside, sending just enough light into the room that none other was necessary.
“You did this?” he asked, and when she nodded, he felt as if he’d been given the world. He hadn’t expected romance from his tough and lethal commander.
Picking up a lantern, she brought it inside and hung it on a curl of metal that stuck out from the wall and had clearly been designed for the lantern. “Close the doors.”
He did so, drew the curtains. They weren’t blackout curtains, would allow in sunlight in the morning, but at night, they shut out the world, cloaking the room in privacy. Turning after that was done, he found Zaira had moved toward him.
A soft kiss before she placed her hands on his chest and stroked down, the lamplight setting her ring afire. That he’d never seen her without the ring since the day he gave it to her was another unexpected and wonderful gift.
“Take this off.”
Skin tight, he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, then reached back and tugged it over his head to drop it on the handwoven rug that covered the wooden floor. Zaira touched him again, the contact making him suck in a breath. It was always a delicious shock, the contact, like lightning through his veins. “Zaira.”
Lashes lowered, she ran her fingers over his pectorals. “I like touching you skin to skin,” she murmured, her breath kissing his chest. “I can feel your life, your strength, your need.” Her lashes rose. “The tension in your muscles, it’s for me.”
“Yes.” He cupped the side of her neck, his fingers curving partly around her nape and his thumb brushing her jaw. “You are my addiction.”
* * *
ZAIRA felt her pulse kick.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his skin, just because she wanted to do it. His hand curved farther around her nape, the hold nothing she would’ve permitted any other individual. It left her too vulnerable, but she knew that right then, he was vulnerable, too—his body was taut, his muscles bunched, and when she tasted him with her tongue, a tremor shook his frame.
That felt good, too. To know that her touch gave him pleasure.
Bending his head, he pulled her hair away from the side of her face to kiss her temple, her cheek. The heat and strength of him surrounded her, the slick strands of his hair brushing her skin. Sinking into the sensation, she turned and lifted her face toward him. And their lips were touching; the contact somehow reached into her stomach, made it flutter, stealing the fear that had the rage curled up into a tight ball of worry.
Her hands stroked up to his shoulders of their own accord, her body rising on tiptoe to better fit herself against him. Continuing to hold her with his hand around her nape, his other hand spread on her lower back, he angled his head, and their kiss grew deeper. But he broke it too soon. “What’s wrong?” Eyes of deepest brown looking into hers. “I can feel your muscles about to snap.”
Nails digging into his shoulders, she swallowed. “I’m afraid.”
“Of this?” He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, and she knew if she answered in the affirmative, he wouldn’t berate her, wouldn’t blame her, wouldn’t reject her.
And in that reminder, she found her courage. “I got you a gift.” Bending her neck slightly, she undid the clasp of the fine gold necklace she wore. It was long, had dipped between her breasts. Removing it, she pulled off the ring she’d slipped onto the chain. “This is for you,” she said, not quite daring to look up. Possessive and feral she might be where he was concerned, but he also meant too much to her for this not to matter.