Marcel’s deep sigh gusted over the line. “Does Seraphina realize yet what a demanding pain in the ass you can be?”
Jehan met her gaze and grinned. “I imagine she’s figuring that out.”
Marcel chuckled. “I’ll drop it off at sundown.”
CHAPTER 9
“Careful with that crate, Aleph. Those glass vials of vaccines are fragile.”
Walking across the moonlit sand with her arm around one of the children from the refugee camp and a box of bandages held in her other hand, Sera directed another of the volunteers to the open back of the supply-laden Range Rover. “Massoud, take the large sack of rice to Fatima in the mess tent and ask her where she’d like us to store the rest of the raw grains. Let her know we have some crates of canned meats and boxes of fruit here too.”
Behind her at the vehicle, Jehan was busy unloading the crates and boxes and sacks they’d just arrived with from the checkpoint near Marrakesh. Sera couldn’t help pausing to watch him work. Dressed in jeans and a loose linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his glyph-covered forearms, he pitched in like the best of her other workers. Even better, in fact, since he was Breed. His strength and stamina outpaced half a dozen humans put together.
She still couldn’t believe what he’d done for her tonight. For a village of displaced people he’d never met and didn’t have to care about. All of the indignation and anger she’d felt toward him since their first night at the villa evaporated under her admiration for what he was doing now.
And it wasn’t only admiration she felt when she looked at him.
There was attraction, to be sure. White-hot and magnetic.
But something stronger had begun to kindle inside her today. As unsettling as her desire for him was, this new emotion was even more terrifying. She liked him.
Jehan had intrigued her from their first introduction, even after she’d learned he made his living as a warrior. Their kiss at the banquet had ignited a need in her that she still hadn’t been able to dismiss. And then, when he’d helped her out of her dress that initial night at the villa, she’d wanted him with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed her.
After he’d left her humiliated and awash in frustration, she’d almost been able to convince herself that he was simply an arrogant bastard and an aggravation she would just have to avoid or endure for the rest of their week together.
Now he had to go and do something kind for her like this. Something surprising and selfless.
Frowning, she turned away from him on a groan. “Come on, Yasmin. Let’s go see if Fatima has anything good waiting in her kitchen tonight.”
As they walked into the center of the camp, a Jeep was arriving from the other end of the makeshift village of tents and meager outbuildings. Yellow headlights bounced in the darkness as the vehicle jostled over the ruts in the dirt road into camp. The Jeep came to a halt several yards up and Karsten Hemmings hopped out of the driver’s seat.
“Sera?” He jogged to meet her, a welcoming grin on his ruggedly handsome face. “I was down at the southern camp when I got word the supplies had been released.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he took the box out of her hands. Then he reached down to pat the child’s head with a smile. “What’s going on? I thought you said you were going to be delayed with your parents for a few more days?”
She shrugged at the reminder of the small lie she’d told him. “I found an opportunity to get away for a little while, so I thought I’d run to Marrakesh and see what I could do about the supplies.”
Karsten made a wry sound in his throat as he tossed the box of bandages to a passing camp volunteer. “How much did it cost this time?”
“A few thousand.”
After haggling the checkpoint supervisor down as far as she could manage, she’d arranged to have the money wired to the corrupt official’s personal account. It simply was the way business was done in her line of work sometimes, but all of the “few thousands” had added up over the years. Her account was nearly tapped dry now—at least until she completed the handfast and her father released her trust.
A group of children ran past and shouted for Yasmin to join them in a game of tag. The promise of treats in the mess tent quickly forgotten, the little girl ran off to join her friends.
“Stay close to camp, all of you!” Karsten called after them, watching them go. Then he cocked his head at Sera. “It’s good to see you. When I heard you’d left to go to your family without telling anyone what it was about, I was afraid something was wrong.” He glanced down, finally taking in her appearance. “What the hell happened to your clothes?”
Seeing how Leila had outfitted her for a week of lounging and potential romance, before Sera left the villa, she’d raided Jehan’s wardrobe for something practical to wear out in the field.
She couldn’t show up wearing any of the dresses or peasant skirts her sister had selected, so Sera had appropriated Jehan’s white linen tunic from the night of the banquet and a loose-fitting pair of linen pants. With the pant legs rolled up several times, the waist held around her by a makeshift red silk belt, and a pair of her own kid leather flats, her clothing wasn’t fashionable, but it was functional.
It also had the added benefit that it carried Jehan’s deliciously spicy scent, which had been teasing her senses ever since she slipped the tunic over her head.
She wasn’t sure how to explain what she was wearing, but then Karsten no longer seemed interested. His gaze flicked past Sera now, to where Jehan had just unloaded the last of the crates and supplies.
His brow rankled in confusion. “Who’s that?”
“A friend,” she said, unsure why she should feel awkward calling him that.
“He’s Breed.” Karsten’s eyes came back to her now, wariness flattening his lips as he lowered his voice. “You brought one of them into the camp?”