Her Forbidden Harem by Savannah Skye

Author:Savannah Skye [Skye, Savannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

The sun was streaming in through the windows when I woke. I guess a city girl always sleeps late in the country, and I wasn’t a natural early riser anyway. There was a gravity driven shower in the washroom out back, fed from a tank on the roof. I guess my ancestors would have found it refreshingly cold, but to a girl used to hot water and power showers, it was like a form of torture until I got used to it. Honestly, when I got out, I did feel cleaner – like it had opened up all my pores.

“Clarke?” Back inside, I ventured up the stairs to the landing where I had not been yet. It seemed inconceivable to me that Clarke was not up and about yet and probably had been for hours.

Three doors led off the landing, leading to the bedrooms of the three guys. All three doors were closed. I stood staring at them for a moment. Obviously, going in would be a violation of their privacy, on the other hand, I couldn’t see any other way to look inside and I really wanted to look inside.

I opened the first door, feeling a little like Goldilocks. The room was tidy and Spartan but with a few pictures of family enlivening it. I had hoped to find something a bit more scandalous but wasn’t wholly surprised not to find it. My best guess was that this was Jackson’s room.

The next one was more of a mess; clothes scattered on the floor, several empty glasses littering the bedside table, blankets strewn across the bed. The only area of real neatness, where some pride had been taken, was the weight lifting set-up in the corner, with every weight in its proper place. Colt’s for sure.

That meant…

I knocked gently on the third door – something I probably should have done with the first two. “Clarke?”

No answer, so I went in. There was no sign of Clarke in the room. The bed was neatly made and there were bookshelves by the wall with a small but diverse looking selection from poetry to Sun Tzu’s Art of War. By the window was a small table with a chair pulled up underneath it. On the table was a dirty plate and I wondered why that would be there when everything else in the room was so pristine.

Because he had wanted to have breakfast but not wanted to wake me.

Suddenly, that dirty plate seemed like the sweetest thing I had ever seen. Usually, when men did not want to wake me in the morning it was because they were sneaking out and did not want to answer questions like ‘What was your name again?’.

I walked over to the table and, out through the window, saw a part of the village that Clarke had not bothered with in his hasty tour yesterday. It was an obstacle course, the largest I had ever seen – not that I had seen many – and clearly built here by the people themselves.

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