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Quickly she nodded to Marta. And so did Tariq. Following his lead, she tossed it back, trying very hard not to grimace and set the empty cup on the tray.
“Now you can refuse the next cup. Because after three cups it is considered rude to take another.”
“Thank goodness,” she murmured.
“You did fine. Come, it is time to say good-night.”
A fine quivering sensation started deep in her stomach as they walked across the shadowed camp to their tent, the indigo night sky arching overhead. Jayne was aware of the darkness that stretched into the desert beyond their tent. The vast emptiness that surrounded them, broken only by the soft conversation of the Bedouin still gathered around the fire.
Their tent glowed inside, the soft light of candles diffusing against the drapes in a warm pattern.
“In the sleeping area there is a bath ready for you,” Tariq said. “Matra arranged it.”
“Oh.” Jayne felt suddenly breathless. “I had thought there might be a washroom nearby.”
“There is—with communal baths. No doubt Matra thought you would prefer to bathe in private.”
Private?
With Tariq here?
Dragging her feet, Jayne made her way to where Tariq had pointed. A steaming bath waited, with a high back and a curved lip to rest her head on. After the drive and the long day, it looked too welcoming to refuse. Quickly she shucked off her clothes and stepped in, sinking down into the hot water. Shivers broke across her skin as ripples of heat enfolded her.
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