The second morning in Baza dawned heavier than the first. Tension in the streets hummed like a taut string ready to snap. Vendors called prices too loudly, as though volume could scare away uncertainty; the soldiers that lingered longer at corners, and the rumors of a brewing war began to bubble to the surface.
Jahima slipped from the inn while Santiago slept, his sword within easy reach, one hand thrown over his eyes against the creeping light. She pulled her hood close and took the back stairs, the satchel at her hip light enough to outrun trouble and heavy enough to pretend she wasn't considering it.
She told herself it was only for supplies.
Just for water and bread.
Yet as her feet carried her through the streets, she felt the rush of freedom prickle her skin, a dangerous taste she had nearly forgotten.
At the well, a Moorish woman drew water with a creak of rope and offered a nod that landed somewhere between pity and warning. "Strangers should keep to the shade today," she murmured in Arabic, but with the careful diction of someone used to crossing borders.
"I only need bread and salt," Jahima answered. The woman handed her a small twist of salt wrapped in paper. "For luck," she said.
The market offered little. Stalls sagged beneath late figs and hard cheeses. A boy hawked strips of cured meat; a tinsmith beat dents from a basin with too much zeal. Jahima bartered for dates, flatbread, a coil of dried sausage, and, on impulse, a spool of coarse thread and two needles. She took note of alleys that curved into shadow and doorways deep enough to shelter her in secret.
Twice, she caught sight of soldiers conferring with patrons from the inn. Twice she turned her face and kept walking.
By the time she returned to the inn's stairs, the sun had cleared the tiled roofs. She let herself in as quietly as the swollen door would allow.
Santiago was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes wild with anger. The sword lay across his knees. His voice was stripped of softness.
"Where were you?"
"I went out for food." She lifted the satchel. Bread. Meat. Dates. "And thread."
His gaze slid to the latch. "How do I know you were not trying to run?"
"If I wanted to run, I wouldn't have come back," Jahima answered, bothered.
"You might have led them to me," he pressed, standing.
Jahima closed the door behind her with a click, then set the satchel on the table. "You're not angry at me," she said after a breath. "You're angry at being left behind."
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. A boy's fear flickered under a man's armor. Then it was gone.
Santiago closed the gap between them and quickly grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him. The fury in his eyes was sharp, but beneath it burned something more dangerous. His breath ghosted over her cheek.
"You make me doubt you, Jahima. And I hate it."
Instead of recoiling, she tilted her chin, her lips brushing close to his ear. "Then let me remind you where I choose to be."
Her free hand slid down his chest, tracing the scars she had memorized to his manhood. Slowly, deliberately, she slipped her hand into his pants and began to stroke him; not in surrender, but in defiance, steering his anger into hunger.
His breath quickened as he tried to stand rigid, but his rage melted into lust. Jahima kissed him with calculated fire, claiming him as much as he claimed her in a clever strategy. He answered her like a man re-learning a language he swore he would never speak.
He kissed her hard, a growl rising in his throat, and she moaned in response, tugging him closer.
"You're dangerous," he muttered against her mouth.
Santiago lifted her onto the table with rough urgency, the wood groaning beneath them. The satchel of goods tumbled to the floor, forgotten. He tore open her robe and his mouth claimed the curve of her throat, then her breast, biting gently before soothing with his tongue.
"You drive me mad, Jahima."
His hands gripped her thighs, dragging her closer, the scrape of his stubble raw against the skin of her inner thigh. There, he bit gently, breathing in her scent.
"Santiago," she moaned, her fingers tangled in his hair.
"I can't stop wanting you," he whispered, frustration softening into need.
"Then don't stop," she urged.
Santiago grinned before burying his tongue deep inside her, his hand circling her sensitive button. The pleasure built too quickly, leaving her trembling, until he pulled back just before her release and gently bit at her thigh.
"Say you need me," he murmured, his breath tickling her. "I want to hear it."
Jahima moaned, her back arching in anticipation.
"I need you," she whimpered as he started again, teasing her by gently sucking and licking. "Please... don't stop."
Her words shattered his restraint, and his intensity mounted. He slid thick fingers into her wetness, and she tightened around them. Feeling her mind go blank with pleasure.
"Santiago...take what you want," she moaned loudly as she came, her moans filling the room as waves of release shook her.
In no time, he was standing his arousal in his hand.
"Now for your punishment," he said, devilishly pressing into her with one swift thrust.
"It's too deep!" She gasped, clinging tighter.
He pulled out again and then pressed into her, slower, then with the fierce rhythm of a man trying to erase suspicion with every thrust. The table shook wildly, and Jahima cried out, her nails clawing at his back as his pace consumed them both.
"Say that you're mine," he demanded.
"I...Santiago." Jahima moaned, trying to find her words, but the delay would not satisfy him. He thrust into her harder, and she whimpered with a tinge of pain in her voice.
"Say it," he growled, pounding deeply into her flesh. Hitting the back of her walls as she tightened around him.
"I'm yours!" she shouted as she came again, his stroke unrelenting until he buried his face against her shoulder and his body stiffened while he bit hard at her neck.
For a moment, only the sound of their heartbeats and ragged breath filled he room.
Jahima cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Do you trust me now?"
His lips curved in a weary, almost reverent smile. "More than I should."
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Jahima woke to the low trickle of water and the glow of lamplight. Her body ached in ways both tender and raw, every movement a reminder of what happened between them just hours ago. She blinked to find Santiago kneeling by a tub, sleeves rolled back, pouring steaming buckets until the air was misted with heat.
"You'll soak," he ordered, not looking at her yet. "It will ease the pain."
She shifted beneath the linen draped over her, surprised by its neat stitching. "You…you sewed my dress?"
He glanced back, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "You must have known that my clumsy hands would need them. I couldn't leave you in rags after tearing them to shreds. So I stitched it the best I could."
He reached into his pack, producing a folded robe the shade of sage leaves. "Also, I bought this too. For you."
Jahima smiled and bowed in gratitude. A new type of heat grew inside her. Santiago seemed to blush before he gently lifted her from the bed and placed her in the tub, gasping as the hot water enveloped her. Muscles loosened, skin softened, and she let her head tip back with a low sigh. Santiago followed, sliding in behind her, his thighs bracketing hers as he drew her back against his chest.
His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading gently, reverently, as his lips brushed the damp curve of her neck. "You don't have to thank me," he whispered against her skin. "But don't mistake kindness for weakness. If you try to slip away again, I'll bind you like before."
Her breath hitched, but not from fear. Santiago's words, heavy with warning, thrummed with something else too...possession, protection, a vow disguised as threat.
Jahima turned her face, meeting his mouth in a kiss softened by steam, one that lingered and searched.
"Then perhaps," she whispered when they parted, "I'll stay close."
And for the first time, she leaned into the safety of his hold as much as his heat.
.