He was still haunted by the look of raw anguish he had glimpsed on Farouk’s face when the sultan had found himself cruelly betrayed by a man he had believed to be his friend. He hoped like hell that Clarinda was worth the price he had paid for her.
Each measured step brought him closer to his destiny, whatever that might be. He would have tried to refuse the blindfold but knew no man besides the sultan or his eunuchs was allowed to pass through the harem and live. Even with the blindfold securely in place, he was still only allowed to approach that sacred bastion of feminine charms through a series of complicated detours, backtracks, and secret passageways. Neither Farouk nor his guards had any reason to suspect he had already visited it once.
The eunuchs also had no way of knowing he was counting every step they took and committing each turn to memory, a talent that had always served him well when a hasty retreat or escape became necessary. With any luck, he and Clarinda would be retracing his steps together before this night was done.
The cloying smell of incense grew more overpowering with each breath he took, adding to the sense of disorientation caused by being led forward by invisible hands into absolute darkness. Ash didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed when the eunuchs finally brought him to a stumbling halt and released his arms. The blindfold was whisked away. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting with surprising ease to the hazy light.
They were standing at the end of a corridor that ended in a single bronze-banded door. A guttering oil lamp mounted high on the wall cast flickering shadows everywhere he looked.
Instead of a black-hooded executioner wielding a freshly sharpened scimitar, a pair of stooped old women were waiting to greet him. Ash eyed them warily as they beamed up at him, baring their toothless gums. Their gazes raked him from head to toe, their beady little eyes glowing with an unabashed appreciation that made him regret shedding the native robes and donning his own riding breeches and lawn shirt.
He stole a glance behind him only to discover his escorts had soundlessly melted back into the shadows.
Perhaps Farouk was more diabolical than he’d anticipated. Perhaps the sultan planned to take his revenge by turning him over to these two randy little crones instead of allowing him to spend the night in Clarinda’s bed. A faint shudder traveled through him as he imagined them climbing atop him to gum his shrinking flesh.
One of the women captured his hand, drawing him toward the door. “Come, good sir. She is waiting for you.”
Ash blew out a silent sigh of relief. Apparently the women were only there to steer him to Clarinda.
Eyeing him coyly, her companion patted his other arm. “Be gentle with her. She is a tender blossom.”
Ash barely resisted the urge to laugh. Clarinda had never been a tender blossom but always a rose in full bloom, her soft, velvety petals hiding dangerous thorns. God knew his heart had been pricked by them often enough.
He pressed an open palm to his heart. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman,” he vowed, hearing his brother’s skeptical bark of laughter in his head as he did so.
Exchanging a glance, the women bobbed their heads in approval, then tugged open the door and ushered him through it.
Without giving him time to get a clear look at what was waiting for him in the chamber, the more withered of the two women caught his forearm in her bony claw. Drawing him down to the level of her mouth, she croaked, “Have no fear. She will not resist you. We made sure of that.”
Before he could ask her what her cryptic words meant, both of the women withdrew, gently drawing the door shut behind them. He heard the decisive clink of a key turning in a lock, sealing his fate.
“Damn it all!” he swore, whirling around to face the door.
He waited until he heard the women’s shuffling footsteps move away from the door before seizing the handle and testing the strength of the lock.
He hadn’t anticipated being treated as a prisoner himself. With every window in the harem covered by an impenetrable web of iron latticework, he and Clarinda might as well have been locked away in the deepest dungeon of the fortress. He rested his clenched fist against the thick wood of the door and lowered his head, breathing harder than he should have been.
A throaty little moan came out of the shadows behind him. His nape prickled with foreboding.
He slowly turned. The corners of the octagonal chamber were draped in mysterious shadows, which only made the spill of moonlight through the latticework that much more dramatic. Its gentle glow poured over the sleeping couch in the center of the room, creating a pattern as delicate as Brussels lace against the flawless ivory skin of the woman reclining on its lavender sheets.
No, not a woman but a goddess—silvery, ethereal, irresistible—the embodiment of man’s eternal fascination with the moon. She lay crosswise, the shimmering ribbons of her unbound hair spilling over the edge of the couch. A couch that could just as easily have been some sort of enchanted bower.
“Clarinda?” he whispered, the passion-roughened timbre of his voice nearly unrecognizable, even to himself.
When she didn’t respond, he took one step toward her, then another. If he had been born with even one iota of his brother’s prudence, he would be pounding on the door, demanding to be let out. But it was too late to stop the forward momentum of his steps.
Perhaps it had always been too late.
As he drew nearer to the couch, he saw that Clarinda was wearing nothing but a diaphanous scrap of silk that clung to every curve and hollow of her exquisite body, leaving little to the imagination. Especially the imagination of a man who had been exploring every inch of her flesh in his dreams for nearly a decade.
Some shortsighted fool had decided her pert nipples weren’t enticing enough without enhancement, so they had been darkened with crimson rouge and left to thrust boldly against the sheer silk. As if that sight wasn’t enough to make a man’s mouth water with unbridled hunger, one of her knees was cocked to the side, inviting the silk to pool between her thighs and offering even the most causal observer a teasing peek at the silvery blond nest of curls beneath. Every exposed inch of her skin had been oiled to a satiny sheen, making a man dream of how easily his hands might glide over her … and into her.
Ash’s burning gaze drifted back to her face. Her plump lips were moist and slightly parted, perfectly poised for kissing and other even more forbidden pleasures. She was gazing up at the ceiling, her eyes dreamy and unfocused, her arms flung wide as if to embrace an invisible lover.
As if sensing his presence with an instinct deeper than hearing or sight, she slowly turned her head and looked directly at him. She had the sleepy, sloe-eyed look of a temptress who knew exactly what she wanted and would do whatever was needed to make sure she got it. She was Delilah, Bathsheba, and Eve all rolled into one. She was woman, distilled down to its most primal essence. Drawing a man’s rigid cock to her like a moth to a flame.
Ash closed the last of the distance between them in two long strides. Bracing his weight on one knee between her splayed thighs, he seized her by the shoulders and yanked her up to face him. Her head lolled to the side, a fetching little scowl puckering her brow as she struggled to focus on his face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered hoarsely, mesmerized by the tiny pinpoints of her pupils swimming in the clover-green seas of her eyes, “what in the name of God have they done to you?”
She leaned forward to press the softness of her lips to his throat, her husky giggle igniting a dizzying rush of lust low in his belly. “Never mind that. The question, Ashton Burke, is what are you going to do to me?”
Chapter Twenty
During his military career and in the years following, Ash had been bayoneted through the shoulder twice, shot three times, and gored in the calf by a charging boar. He had contracted a tropical fever that had soared so high he hadn’t remembered his own name for a fortnight and had narrowly escaped being roasted in a Pygmy’s cook pot. But all of those trials were just a stroll in Hyde
Park on a lazy Saturday afternoon compared to the fresh hell that was Clarinda’s hot little mouth nibbling its way down the broad column of his throat.
He groaned aloud as her clever tongue darted out to flick his skin.
“Mmm … ” She was practically purring with satisfaction. “You taste so good. Salty and sweet and spicy all at the same time.” Her mouth drifted lower, teasing the crisp whorls of hair peeping out from the open throat of his shirt. “Why, I could just gobble you right up!”
Ash gazed helplessly down at the top of her head, paralyzed by a staggeringly detailed mental image of her doing just that. Taking advantage of his immobility, her greedy hands seized both sides of his shirt at the throat, jerking the thin lawn apart with such unbridled enthusiasm he could hear the stitching give way. As she ducked her head to sample the swath of golden skin she had exposed, he bit off an oath that described exactly what he was aching to do to her.
Recapturing her shoulders, he drew her upright, giving her a slight shake as he did so. “Look at me, Clarinda. I need you to concentrate on what I’m saying.”
Unfortunately, she tried to achieve that aim by lowering her hungry gaze to his mouth. Which made it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on what he was saying.
“When Farouk offered me one of his women for the night, I had no choice but to seize the opportunity. I thought if I could get into the harem with an entire night at our disposal, then I could find a way to get you and Poppy out. But I’m afraid I’ve made a grave miscalculation. They’ve locked us in here together.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulders to balance her weight, he cradled her chin in his other hand and gently tipped her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m trying to make you understand. You’re not yourself right now.”
She blinked up at him, looking genuinely perplexed. “Then who am I?”
The woman my brother is going to marry.
As that damning reminder echoed through his mind, Ash sighed. “The women who were here before me … they gave you some sort of drug. From the condition of your pupils, I’m guessing it contained opium and some manner of aphrodisiac.”
Ash had heard about the dangerous effects of such concoctions before, deep in the jungles of Africa. He had been told tales of decent, morally upstanding women being stripped of their every inhibition, behaving like cats in heat, literally backing up and lifting their skirts to offer their wares to any man who passed by.
Clarinda didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the urgency of their situation. “Ah, yes!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “That must have been the nasty brew they forced me to drink! They said it would make me crave your touch. That it would turn me into a wild creature, begging you to do whatever you liked with me. And that I’d be begging to do whatever would please you the most. Is all of that true?”
Ash had to clear his throat twice before he could answer her. “Yes, sweeting, it’s true. The drug they gave you is going to make you feel things … want things … do things you wouldn’t normally do.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean you could …”
He nodded grimly.
“And I would …”
He nodded again.
She looked fascinated instead of horrified. “So you could do anything you wanted to me?”
“Anything at all.” Despite his best efforts to restrain it, his gaze flicked downward, drinking in the saucy thrust of her nipples against the sheer fabric, the teasing shadows where the silk was draped at the juncture of her thighs. He jerked his gaze back to her face, the hint of a growl deepening his voice. “Everything.”
“Would I remember any of it in the morning?”
“I don’t know. It depends on the nature and potency of what they gave you.”
She pondered his words for a moment, then lifted one shoulder in an airy shrug. “Then what’s stopping you?”
Before Ash had time to ask himself that question or catch his breath, she was on him again, clutching at his shirt and rubbing her face against his throat like a needy little kitten, peppering the rigid jut of his jaw with a tantalizing line of tender, openmouthed kisses.
He closed his eyes, his chest heaving with a ragged breath as he allowed himself a moment to savor the wonder that was Clarinda in full bloom with nary a thorn in sight.
He had faced many temptations in his life and had discovered few worth resisting. In most cases, the rewards of surrender far outweighed the consequences. He had certainly never faced a temptation with a more enticing reward. Even if the consequence was his mortal soul, he couldn’t be entirely sure it wasn’t too steep of a price to pay.
Clarinda’s pebbled nipples grazed the muscled planes of his chest through the thin lawn of his shirt, forcing him to grit his teeth against a shudder of pure lust. Here in this place so far from any civilization they knew, it would be all too easy for him to throw off the chains of convention. To abandon centuries of restraint and revert back to the primal state that allowed a man to ravish a woman simply because he possessed the will and the physical strength to do so.
He already knew exactly what Max would expect him to do under these circumstances. He could almost see the look of disgust on his brother’s face, the contempt in his cool gray eyes.
Clarinda twined her lithe arms around his neck, her beguiling kisses skating dangerously near the corner of his mouth. If he allowed her seeking lips to find his, there would be no saving either of them.
Using every ounce of the meager self-control God had given him, Ash reached behind him to unhook Clarinda’s clinging arms from his neck. Striving to keep his motions brisk and efficient—no easy feat when he was already as hard as a rock—he pushed her down on the pillows, pinning her wrists on either side of her head in the improbable hope of keeping her hands off him long enough to allow the blood to start flowing to his brain again.
Visibly delighted to find herself on her back with him looming over her, she wiggled her hips and bit her bottom lip in brazen invitation, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
It was no struggle for Ash to keep his expression stern. “You might not remember any of this in the morning, but I would. Once you regained your senses, you would hate me. And I would hate myself even more.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I could never hate you!”
“What you’re feeling right now has absolutely nothing to do with me. Trust me. When it comes to assuaging the hungers you’re suffering right now, any man would do.”
Her smile faded. Her lower lip began to tremble ever so slightly, making him feel like the meanest ogre in the world. “Is that what you believe? That any man would do? That’s simply not true. It’s always been you, Ash. Only you.”
Ash had already committed himself to enduring whatever physical torture she might dole out, but he had no defenses against the unabashed adoration in her big green eyes. He ought to be impressed that she could still lie so convincingly while under the influence of opium and God knew what else.
“What about Max?” he asked grimly.
She gazed up at him blankly.
“You do remember Max, don’t you? My brother? Your fiancé?”
“Oh, Maximillian!” A fond smile lit up her face. “Your brother is such a dear. Have I ever told you what a dear he was?”
“No,” Ash growled. “And I’d rather you didn’t.”
Knowing it wasn’t going to be possible for him to maintain his stern demeanor for long with her flat on her back beneath him, he tugged her to a sitting position. “What I want you to remember in the morning are all of the things I didn’t do to you so that you can tell my brother about every one of them in great detail.”
“Then what will we do tonight to pass the time?” She sat up on her knees to face him in the moonlight, all eagerness and big, dewy eyes.
“Wait for the effects of whatever they gave you to wear off.”
“How long will that take?”
“An eternity,” he muttered, propping his back against a plush purple
bolster. He’d had enough experience with the more potent aphrodisiacs himself to know things were likely to get much worse before they got better.
For the both of them.
Despite his concerted effort to keep Clarinda at arm’s length, she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. When he folded his arms over his chest and tried to hold her at bay with a forbidding glower, she began to pet the front of his shirt as if he were some sort of faithful hound. Even that innocent touch was enough to send shock waves of heat shooting straight to his groin.
She leaned forward, swaying slightly on her knees, and whispered loudly in his ear, “Did you know it was possible for a woman to pleasure herself?”
The corner of his mouth curved in a reluctant smile. “I’ve heard rumors to that effect.”
Clarinda sank back on her heels and stole a look over her shoulder, as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “They taught me how to do it. Would you care to see?”
“God, yes,” he breathed. She reached for herself, but he grabbed her wrist before her hand could arrive at its destination. “I mean, hell no!”
If she touched herself in front of him, he was going to explode right then and there.
His refusal earned him a brief pout, but Clarinda’s disappointment was short-lived. “When the women of the harem were teaching me all of the ways a woman can pleasure a man,” she said softly, inclining her head so that the fall of her hair veiled the flushed curve of her cheek, “I tried to think of Max, honestly I did. But it was always you I saw in my mind. Doing all of the things we never had a chance to try before. Me touching you. Kissing you.” She lifted her wistful gaze to his face, her wayward hand drifting over his folded arms and down to the tightly clenched muscles of his abdomen. “Putting my mouth on you.”