Page 45 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

He was right; when he returned to the campsite after relieving himself, she was already up, brushing her teeth with a textured stick of miswak .

She swished water around her mouth, somehow managing to smile at him through it.

Something tugged at his heart.

“Morning,” she greeted after spitting the water into the grass. “Did you eat breakfast?”

He shook his head, scratching his jaw. His stubble had grown out, and it itched terribly. Soraya handed him a small plate of nuts and dried meat and sat beside him.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked. He’d been making more of an effort to start conversations since she loved to talk.

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. Her cheeks colored, but he couldn’t discern why.

“Are you all right? You look flushed.”

“Yes, yes! I’m fine.” She was bright red now and wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Okay…” he said slowly. Had he done something wrong? He eyed her for several heartbeats, but she didn’t say anything else. Knowing Soraya, she’d have no trouble telling him if he upset her, so he let it go.

He scratched at his jaw again. After breakfast, he retrieved a bar of shaving soap from his pack.

Wetting his hands, he rubbed it into a lather and applied it over his cheeks, jawline, and neck.

Unsheathing his dagger, he settled back against a thick tree trunk, poised to shave his face. He raised the dagger and—

“Jamil!” His head snapped to Soraya. “What in the moons are you doing?” she exclaimed.

He furrowed his brow at her outraged face. “Shaving?”

She sputtered, gesturing at the dagger in his hand. “You don’t have a mirror. You’ll slit your throat. Just wait until we reach Sendouk.”

“It itches.” He scratched his cheek again to prove his point.

She sighed and muttered something under her breath. “Let me help you, then. Can’t risk you cutting yourself and bleeding out. Who will help me find Layna?” Soraya cracked a wry smile to let him know she was only teasing.

She dusted off her trousers and knelt beside him, hand outstretched for the dagger. The sunlight glinted in her determined brown eyes.

He could have told her he’d been shaving without a mirror for over a decade.

He should have mentioned he could even shave with his sword if needed.

He might have brought up the time when Zarian had dared him to shave on a galloping horse, and he’d only nicked himself twice.

Jamil could have said any number of things, but what passed through his lips was, “All right.”

He placed his dagger into her waiting hand, a spark tingling his fingers where they grazed hers. She scooted closer, then closer still. Hesitantly, she placed one hand on his chest for stability and leaned in until their faces were scant inches apart.

She was practically sitting in his lap.

Her eyes were wide, and she swallowed deeply. The dagger quivered in her hand—clearly, she had not thought through the mechanics of her offer.

If Jamil were a better man, he’d tell her it was all right, he could do it himself.

Instead, he arched a brow in challenge, knowing this stubborn, magnificent woman would follow through.

And she did.

Soraya tilted her chin, took a deep breath, and raised the blade to his cheek, gently pressing it against his skin. He held his breath as she slowly dragged it down, making a clean swipe down to his jaw.

They both exhaled at the same time. He wiped the blade with a small cloth, and the dagger kissed his cheek again, sliding through the lather.

Could she feel how fast his heart beat beneath her palm?

His eyes were riveted to her as she painstakingly drew the dagger over his face. Her breathing was heavy, and her pupils had blown wide, until her eyes looked nearly black. Every so often, Soraya would take a deep, shuddering breath and swallow. His eyes tracked the gentle bob of her throat.

“Is this all right?” she asked with a nervous laugh, her eyes finally meeting his. “I’ve never done this before.” Her cheeks were flushed pink, and moons, he wanted to kiss her.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped instead, like an idiot. She moved even closer, and he fisted his hands in the grass to keep from pulling her into his lap.

“Your scar,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I should avoid it, right?”

He could only nod. She raised a finger to his cheek and slowly dragged it through the lather where his scar ran down his face, clearing the white foam.

His trousers felt uncomfortably tight.

She painstakingly finished his other cheek, paying extra attention around his mouth. Every accidental brush of her fingers against his lips drove him mad with desire.

With a gentle finger, she tilted his head up and began sliding the blade against his neck. He could feel her hand shaking, though it didn’t concern him in the slightest. Moons, he didn’t care if she slit his throat as long as she kept touching him.

Her fingers gripped his tunic, leaning in closer.

One swipe.

Two swipes.

Nearly done.

He regretted sharpening his dagger—a dull blade would have kept her pressed against him longer.

Soraya gasped and pulled back. “I cut you,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

A drop of blood welled and dripped down his neck, pooling in the hollow above his collarbone. Soraya went to set the dagger down, but he grabbed her wrist. He wrapped his hand over hers on the hilt and brought their joined hands back to his throat.

He kept his eyes locked on hers as they slowly scraped down his neck together.

Their hands remained intertwined on the dagger as he made clean swipes through the lather.

She broke his gaze, eyes dropping to his throat, where their hands drew the dagger over his skin.

Her lips parted, and his gaze fell to her thighs as she clenched them together.

Perhaps, she was just as affected as he was.

When the last of the lather was gone, he reluctantly dropped her hand. She cleared her throat, averting her eyes. “Um, if you wanted to grow a beard, I know of a plant-based oil that would soothe the itching.” She scooted back, and he immediately missed the heat of her thigh against his.

“How do you like me?”

The words left his lips before he could stop them.

He didn’t take them back.

She appraised his face, raking over his cheeks and smooth jawline.

“Clean-shaven.”