Blood of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 2)

“Just to be clear, you’re offering us sex?” Jesse asked, slowly, with way too much interest. “Both of us?”

I jabbed the stick into the fire and tried to keep my expression blank, despite the godawful burn in my throat. Jesse abstained from me. Didn’t mean he had to abstain from sex.

“I just thought…” She stared at her hands, shyly, awkwardly. “You’re leaving tomorrow, and it’s been…a long time since a woman…umm…held you.” Her voice danced softly around the words, her chin tucking as she spoke.

I sank my teeth into my lip, fighting the urge to tell her to go fuck herself. But she was right.

Her black hair rippled around her pretty face, her long legs pale in the moonlight. She shifted from foot-to-foot, peering at them from beneath her lashes. Christ, she seemed so young.

Because she is young. Only twenty-three. Twelve years my junior.

Where her hands were soft with youth, mine were calloused from throwing blades and climbing cliffs. While I spent my days fighting aphids and cleaning weapons, she used that time to keep her hair clean and her body groomed. She depended on men to care for her, and I argued with them every step of the way. Her tits were perky, and mine were scarred. She was gentle and docile. I was jaded and difficult.

She wanted children, and I didn’t.

Tallis approached her and raised her chin with his hand. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, smiling, that smile growing wider, shakier, as Jesse walked toward them. His gait was slow, his eyes on her and nothing else, as if floating like a bug to a bug zapper.

I jerked my gaze away, toward the ground, and pulled my knees to my chest. I couldn't watch him follow her into that tent. And I wouldn't tell him not to. He deserved the pleasure of a woman, something I was already giving two other men.

But goddammit, what was this pain inside me? It seared my chest and burrowed into my bones, building a horrible pressure in my sinuses. I felt helpless, rejected. So fucking betrayed.

And hypocritical.

What would his touch feel like? Would he fuck as passionately as he kissed? Would he groan as he slid his cock inside her? My fingernails dug into my jeans, and my teeth sawed together. I couldn’t accept this, couldn’t just sit here and pretend I didn’t care.

I jumped up and slammed into the brick wall of Jesse’s chest. My heart raced. Did he turn her down?

He stepped back, hands on his hips, and just stared at me. Always with the staring and glaring and watching.

God, I loved that about him.

He canted his head. “Gonna tell me the same thing you told Doc?”

Oh. My chest tightened, and I closed my eyes, whispered, “You don’t need my permission to fuck her.”

I kept my eyes squeezed shut as his woodsy scent slipped away with his presence. Wrestling through a silent moment, I measured my breathing and relaxed my hands, but nothing could calm the firestorm inside me.

When I opened my eyes, he was sitting on the ground a few feet away. Legs bent, forearms resting on his knees, he watched the flames spit sparks into the black sky.

Elaine’s tent was zipped closed, whispers drifting from within.

A torrent of relief washed over me. Why walk over there if he didn’t intend to bang her? Did he change his mind? Sometimes I wondered if he did this shit just to fuck with me. Every time I got all self-righteous and worked up, he was right there to mock it.

I sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth without touching. Maybe his head games were payback for having to coexist with me and my relationships with Michio and Roark?

Swallowing a few times, I found my voice. “It makes me sick imagining you with her.”

“She’s not my type.”

Some of the pressure in my head and muscles released. I tried to let it drop, tried to just enjoy the heat from the fire and the company of the man who didn’t choose Elaine.

But I had to ask. “What’s your type?”

Please say thirty-something, stubborn, and fierce with a blade.

If our impending mission was successful, there would be other women. How was I going to deal with that? Everyone would be competition.

He watched the fire, not a single hint of his thoughts in the sharp lines of his cheek bones, the relaxed part in his lips, or the soft blinking of his eyes. One would think he was so lost in his head he hadn’t heard the question. But he was always listening, always watching. He simply chose not to answer.

Without looking in my direction, he finally said, “You’re staring, Evie.”

Oh, now that was funny. I might’ve called him out on his own staring problem if I didn’t love it so much.

As I sat there beside him, my skin felt alive, electric, thrumming with heat. Before I could stop myself, I leaned toward him and placed my lips on the bare skin of his bicep. He didn’t jerk away, so I held the contact long enough to relish the goosebumps skating across his flesh.