Do not poke the grumpy bear, Lauren.
She entered the tent.
A burst of rich color, deep purples and sheer violets, greeted her everywhere she looked. Brass tables set with more lanterns and tea lights, handcrafted rugs strewed around, it was a sight to behold. Two veiled areas separated away from the lounge where they stood.
One had a myriad of dishes laid out on low tables guessing by the delicious aroma wafting toward her and the other contained a low but vast bed with a million pillows of all shapes and sizes on it. Bed big enough for two. A thick fur rug lay neatly folded at the bottom while a small brass-legged washstand with a basin stood against the far corner.
Swallowing the sudden tension, she faced the silent six-foot-two-inch male staring at her. His very silence sent her nerves thrumming. “I like it. Which tent is yours?” she said with a cheer that hurt her own head.
“This.”
Thud went her heart against her rib cage. “The other one’s mine then?”
She moved to his side, or tried to. Viselike fingers clamped her arm and pulled her to the seating area behind them.
With precise movements that actually betrayed his ruffled temper, he poured water into a copper tumbler and handed it to her. “Drink before you expire from the heat.”
She took the tumbler and drank the water without a word. Choosing the divan farthest from him, she sank onto it. The bed was soft and comfy so she tucked her legs beneath her and leaned against the tent wall.
Heart tattooing in her chest, she lifted her head and met his gaze. Before he could take the little place left next to her, she groaned and stretched her legs, tilting to the side.
Something like a curse fell from his mouth before he chose the divan perpendicular to hers. His long legs spread out before him, he sat straight unlike her. As if he suspected that she would run and he would need to pounce.
“Where do you think I’m going to run to,” she said slowly.
His head jerked up, his entire frame unnaturally still. “You’re the most infuriating, exhausting woman I’ve ever met.”
Fury. Impatience. Worry. She frowned at the last.
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head while casting her mind around to find any excuse to postpone the storm she could sense brewing between them. There was a sense of calculation, a sense of coiled energy about him, as if he was deciding what to do with her and it let loose panic in her tummy.
Looking down at her wrinkled tunic, she scrunched her nose. “I need a shower and an early night. I didn’t get my turn to shower this evening before you stormed in there.” She added a little sigh to that to convince him.
His eyes narrowed.
“I spent most of the last two nights by Salma’s side helping her while she recuperated.”
The muscles in his face relaxed, just enough to let her breathe fully. “Why you? Where were her mother and aunts?”
“Bashir’s continual presence in the tent chased them off.”
“Bashir?”
“Her husband. Salma lost a lot of blood and he’s determined to help her with the night feedings, and changing the baby and burping her and so on... Apparently, the women in the camp thinks it’s scandalous for him to be spending so much time with her when she’s not up to her usual duties yet.”
This time, he frowned. And she thought how cute he looked when he didn’t understand something. Which was very rare. “What usual duties?”
“Really, Zafir... Her wifely duties,” she said with an arch to her tone.
Understanding dawned in his golden gaze. He ran a hand through his hair and she wondered if he was trying not to look at her. He cleared his throat then, and Lauren knew, just knew, that he didn’t want to hear any more.
So, of course, she elaborated.
“They seemed to think Bashir wanting to help his wife when he couldn’t get sex out of her was strange and shocking. Imagine that.
“Even Salma was shy at first but I convinced her that it was very important for the baby to bond with the father as well as the mother, for them as a family.”
His gaze jerked to hers and held it. Challenge simmered there and her gut swooped. “What was she shy about?”
She shrugged, cursing herself inwardly for the heat rising up her neck. “I told Salma that feeding the baby in front of her husband is the most natural thing in the world and that she should be glad that she has a husband who wanted to pitch in and do the dirty work, not just strut around like a peacock and announce that his boys were good swimmers.”
His long fingers pressed at his temple and then rubbed his face. But he couldn’t quite hide the amusement in his eyes. “You did not say that.”
“I did.” The expression she’d seen on the couple’s faces made her grin. “Bashir dropped a pile of baby clothes while Salma, with a blank face, said they didn’t have boys. He wouldn’t meet my gaze for the rest of the night. Once he left, she asked me to explain.