Chapter 13
Despite his best attempts, Tarek’s attraction to Jessa grew stronger every day.
He tried to ignore it, but proximity made it impossible. She was everywhere. Her scent lingered in every room. Her voice filled every silence. Her presence was woven into the fabric of his days like thread through a loom.
And the touches. Gods, the touches.
They were innocent enough, at first. A brush of fingers when she handed him a tool. A bump of shoulders as they worked side by side at the stove. An accidental collision in the narrow space between the table and the fireplace.
But even innocent touches were torture for a male who’d never wanted to be touched before.
He found himself constantly aware of her physical presence—the way she moved, the warmth that radiated from her skin, the subtle scent that grew stronger whenever she was flustered.
His beast tracked her constantly, cataloguing every shift of her body, every catch of her breath, and every quickening of her pulse.
And she noticed. Of course she noticed. She wasn’t stupid.
Sometimes he caught her watching him the way he watched her, her eyes lingering on his hands or his shoulders or his mouth. Sometimes she let her touches linger just a beat too long, her fingers warm against his skin before she pulled away with a flush on her cheeks.
They were dancing around something. Something that felt both inevitable and terrifying.
He knew he should put a stop to it. He knew he should draw a clear line between them and refuse to cross it. But every time he tried to pull back, she would smile at him, or laugh at something he said, or just look at him like he was someone worth looking at, and his resolve would crumble to dust.
And then one day they were harvesting sunvines again…
He had been reluctant to bring her back to the mountaintop. The vines were dangerous, and he still remembered how they’d hurt her before, but she’d insisted. She needed more material, and she wanted to go with him.
So here they were, carefully moving through the cluster of vines. He cut the ones she indicated, and then she bundled them into her satchel, keeping a careful distance from the actual plants.
Despite the caution required, it was peaceful work.
The mountain top was quiet around them, the only sounds the rustle of the vines and the distant calls of birds.
Dani was back at the den, napping, under strict orders not to leave the main room, and for the first time in days, they were truly alone.
Which was, perhaps, the problem.
“You’re being very serious today.”
He looked up from the vine he was cutting. She was sitting on a nearby boulder watching him with that slightly teasing expression she got sometimes—the one that made his beast want to pin her down and demand to know what she found so amusing.
“I’m always serious.”
“You are,” she agreed. “But today you’re being especially serious. Even more serious than usual. Your eyebrows are doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“That thing.” She gestured vaguely at his face. “The brooding thing. Like you have the weight of the universe on your shoulders.”
“I don’t brood.”
“You absolutely brood. You’re a champion brooder. If there were competitions for brooding, you would take first place.”
Despite himself, his lips twitched. “And you’re an expert on brooding?”
“I’m an expert on you.” The words came out confident, almost flirtatious, and her cheeks immediately went pink. “I mean I’ve been watching you. For research purposes.”
“Research purposes?”
“Yes. Very important research into the habits and behaviors of the mysterious mountain Vultor.”
Something warm unfurled in his chest. He should shut this down. He should retreat behind his walls and remind her that they were not friends, that this arrangement was temporary, and that he was not the kind of male she should be researching.
Instead, he heard himself say: “And what have you learned? From your research?”
Her eyes sparkled. She set down her satchel and ticked off points on her fingers.
“One. You pretend to be grumpy, but you’re actually very kind.
Two. You make excellent porridge, although you’d never admit to being proud of it.
Three. You like Dani, even though you try to hide it.
Four. You have a surprisingly good sense of humor that you only show when you think no one’s looking. ”
She paused, her expression softening.
“Five. You’re lonely, even though you chose this life and built all these walls around yourself. You’re lonely, and you don’t have to be.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe. He could only stand there, frozen, while this small human female laid bare the truth he’d spent five years trying to bury.
Lonely. Gods, yes. So lonely it was a physical ache sometimes, a hollow space in his chest that nothing could fill.
Until now. Until her.
“Jessa.”
Her name came out rough and ragged, but she didn’t look away. She just stood there, chin lifted, eyes steady, daring him to deny what they both knew.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”
Something snapped.
He couldn’t say who moved first. He didn’t know whether he reached for her or she reached for him. All he knew was one moment they were standing apart, and the next she was in his arms, her back against the rough bark of a tree, her startled gasp swallowed by his mouth.
Heat and softness and a taste that was uniquely, devastatingly Jessa. Sweet and warm and intoxicating, like the first sip of water after a drought.
His hands were in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, a primal satisfaction vibrating through his entire body.
His tongue swept into her mouth, and she met him stroke for stroke, her inexperience evident but her enthusiasm undeniable. She kissed with the same fierce determination she applied to everything else—wholeheartedly, without holding back.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. Her body arched against his, all soft curves and yielding warmth. A small sound escaped her throat—a whimper so desperate and needy that his beast roared with triumph.
Mine, his beast snarled. Ours. Finally, finally, finally—
He was losing control.
With a snarled curse, he tore his mouth away, resting his forehead against hers.
His chest heaved, and he could feel the frantic beat of her heart against his.
Both of them were breathing like they’d been running, and the air between them crackled with an energy that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up.
“Tarek?”
Her voice was breathless and confused. Not afraid—never afraid, this impossible female—but uncertain.
“Shh.” He couldn’t look at her. If he looked at her, he would lose what little control he had left. He buried his face in the curve of her neck instead, inhaling her scent, letting it wash over him. “We can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
He finally forced himself to take a step back.
They stared at each other, both breathing hard, both flushed and disheveled.
Her lips were swollen, her eyes wide and dark.
Her pulse was hammering in her throat. He could see it, could practically taste it, and gods, he wanted to lean in and put his mouth right there, wanted to mark her—
He took another step back. Then another, forcing himself to put distance between them because if he didn’t, if he stayed within arm’s reach, he would reach for her again and this time he wouldn’t stop.
“We should—” His voice came out wrecked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We should get back. Dani will be awake soon.”
She didn’t move. Her eyes searched his face, looking for an explanation, for reassurance.
He couldn’t give it to her. He could barely string words together with the taste of her still on his lips and the feel of her body still imprinted on his hands.
“Tarek. What—”
“We need to go.”
He turned and started walking, not waiting to see if she followed. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking—desire and fear and need, all tangled together until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the others began.
You fool, he thought savagely. You absolute fool. What have you done?
Behind him, he heard her gather her satchel and hurry to catch up. She didn’t speak. She didn’t ask questions he couldn’t answer. She just walked beside him in silence, her shoulder occasionally brushing his, while her scent wrapped around him like a promise he couldn’t keep.
And in the distance, barely audible over the pounding of his heart, he could have sworn he heard his beast laughing.