The rocking motion of her hips and the shuddering twitch of the silky flesh beneath his fingers warned him that she would make a liar of him soon enough. Finally encountering a temptation he was helpless to withstand, he lifted his face from her hair and stole a glance over her shoulder. The sight of his strong, masculine hand cupped around all of that delectable womanly softness made him want to growl like a savage.
He used his thumb and forefinger together to deepen that delicious friction. Clarinda whipped her head back and forth, the silken strands of her hair catching on his own moist lips. “Oh, Ash … oh, my …
oh, God!
”
Her hand shot downward to cover his much larger one. Gripping him with surprising strength, she rode his fingers over the edge of pleasure and into ecstasy, a broken wail spilling from her lips like the sweetest of songs.
Ash was prepared for her release, but not for how close he came to following her over that dangerous precipice. He hadn’t unintentionally spilled his seed outside a woman since he’d been a love-struck lad waking up with wet sheets from dreams of a certain saucy-tongued, green-eyed minx. But it took every ounce of will he possessed to stave off the rapture that threatened to come rolling through him like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path.
Still cradling a trembling Clarinda, he collapsed against the bolster, his chest heaving as if he had been running for a long time. And perhaps he had. Running away from the woman in his arms, although in that moment, he could barely remember why.
Blissfully oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking by rubbing her bottom against his unabated arousal, Clarinda sighed with contentment and wiggled around until she could twine her arms around his neck and rest her cheek against his chest. Her eyes were already fluttering shut. She yawned like a sleepy little lion, the unself-conscious gesture making her look exactly like the little girl who had stolen his clothes while he and Max had been swimming in one of the ponds on their father’s estate.
Now that she no longer had to battle the effects of the aphrodisiac, she was free to surrender to the more pleasant influences of the opium. With any luck, she would sleep until morning, her dreams unfettered by regrets from the past or fear of the future.
Ash was to be allowed no such luxury.
He had come here planning on escape only to end up trapped in a web of his own making. Wrapping his arms around her even more tightly, he pressed a kiss to her sweat-dampened brow and settled back for what he knew would be the longest night of his life.
C
larinda awoke from the most satisfying sleep of her life with the morning sun slanting across her face and a smile on her lips. Still too deliciously drowsy to actually pry open her eyelids, she balled up her fists and stretched her tingling muscles from head to toe, indulging in a yawn so fulfilling she was tempted to roll to her other side and go right back to sleep.
She reluctantly opened her eyes to find Ash sprawled in a chair a few feet away, glowering at her with what appeared to be thinly disguised hostility. His warm caramel locks were tousled, his jaw unshaven, his shirt laid open at the throat. Clarinda frowned in bewilderment. Actually, it was laid open all the way to the middle of his chest, exposing the well-muscled planes of his chest with their delicious dusting of crisp, golden-brown hair.
He didn’t look nearly as well rested as she felt. Judging by the brooding shadows beneath his eyes, he didn’t look as if he had slept a wink all night. Despite his rumpled appearance—or perhaps because of it—he looked absolutely irresistible.
And more than a little dangerous.
She gave him a quizzical look, wondering what on earth he was doing in her bedchamber at that time of the morning.
He nodded toward her body, his eyes heavy-lidded and his jaw set in a harsh line. “You might want to cover yourself.”
Growing even more confused, Clarinda glanced down to discover she was draped in a scrap of sheer fabric that would have been considered indecent as a nightdress back in England. Spotting red smears on the front of it, she felt a brief moment of panic. But a closer inspection revealed that what she had mistaken for blood was only rouge.
Glancing back at Ash to discover his smoldering gaze was still lingering below her neck, she reached down to the end of the unfamiliar couch and snatched the silk sheet she found there all the way up to her chin.
She cast him a wide-eyed look, her heart beginning to pound in an erratic rhythm. “Did you … did we … ?” His face was so forbidding she couldn’t bring herself to finish.
His black chuckle contained little humor. “If we had, you would have remembered. I would have damn well made sure of it.”
Unsettled even more by that provocative promise, she touched a hand to her brow, struggling to sift through the drifting fog in her head. Despite her debauched appearance and a faint throbbing in her temples, she seemed none the worse for wear. The last thing she remembered with perfect clarity was the two old women urging her to sit on the side of the couch so they could pour their bitter brew down her throat.
Everything became fuzzy after that. She remembered the sultry caress of the night breeze against her skin, being enthralled by the lurid mural painted on the ceiling above the couch, one of the women urging her to rest for what was to come. Then Ash had been there, his handsome face looming over her in the moonlight.
Other, more unsettling images came to her in flashes—her hands desperately tearing at his shirt, her fingertips boldly tracing the impressive outline of his arousal through his trousers, her mouth kissing … tasting … pleading …
As those images and a host of others came flooding back in excruciating detail, Clarinda snatched the sheet up over her head. Wondering if it was actually possible to die from mortification, she moaned aloud. “Dear God, what was I thinking? I can’t believe I told you about the cucumbers and begged you to let me put my mouth on you.”
“And I can’t believe I was fool enough to turn you down.”
She heard the resolute click of his bootheels crossing the tiled floor.
He tugged the sheet from her tightly clenched fingers, peeling it back to survey her burning face. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed. I warned you that the elixir the women gave you would make you do things you wouldn’t normally do, want things you wouldn’t normally want.”
She could hardly tell him that wasn’t why she was embarrassed. She was embarrassed because she
had
wanted those things. Because she still wanted them.
Realizing she had little hope of reclaiming her dignity while lying flat on her back and cowering beneath a sheet, she slowly sat up. “Why? Why would those women have given me such a thing?”
Ash settled one lean hip on the edge of the couch, taking care to keep a safe distance between them. “Sometimes in a place like this where men appear to have all the power, women have spent centuries developing clever little secrets their men know nothing about. I’m sure the women genuinely believed they were helping you … making what you were about to endure more …
agreeable
for you.”
Clarinda was horrified to realize they probably would have given her the same elixir if it had been Farouk coming to her bed. Or any other man, for that matter. And how many men, no matter how well-intentioned or noble in character, would have been able to restrain themselves when faced with the overpowering temptation of a woman half out of her mind with lust begging them to make love to her?
“Well, it certainly made
me
more agreeable,” she said glumly. “Had I been any more agreeable, you would have had to beat me off with a stick.”
“Don’t think I didn’t consider it.” Suddenly Ash was the one having difficulty meeting her eyes. “Just how much do you remember?”
Clarinda desperately wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him she remembered nothing beyond her pathetic pleas for him to make love to her and to allow her to do any number of deliciously wicked things to him. But she had long ago learned the terrible price of keeping secrets from him.
“Everything,” she whispered, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes to meet his wary gaze. “I remember everything.”
She remembered every deft stroke of his fingertips, every deep-throated moan he had wrenched from her lips, every shudder of pleasure she had experienced all the way up to that soul-shattering moment when her entire world had exploded into indescribable bliss beneath the skilled caress of his hand.
The only recollection that made no sense was a hazy memory of him cradling her in his arms, brushing his lips over her hair with the helpless tenderness of a man in love, which she knew he hadn’t been for a very long time. If ever.
“You must be wondering why I took such shameless advantage of you,” he said.
Clarinda also remembered how her pride had been in ruins, how her flesh had burned as if it were being consumed from within, until he had offered her release—and sweet relief—with his touch. And all while denying himself his own release.
“You didn’t take advantage of me. You took care of me. Just as you promised you would do.” Since she no longer had any excuse to climb all over him like a wisteria vine, Clarinda had to content herself with softly touching the back of his hand. “Thank you. I realize it must have cost you.”
The look he gave her warned her it was still costing him.
She quickly withdrew her hand, fresh heat flooding her cheeks. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said with an awkward laugh, “but I’m not sure what the appropriate response should be in these circumstances. Would it be more fitting if I sent a note expressing my gratitude? Or perhaps some flowers?”
“I’ve always been partial to lilies of the valley,” he said cryptically, his voice rough but his hand gentle as he reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
His fingertips lingered against that tingling swath of skin, reminding her just how persuasive they could be, just how much pleasure they were capable of coaxing from her flesh.
Would he be able to resist her now that she was in full possession of her faculties? Or at least in as full a possession of them as she could be with his lips so close to hers and his mink-colored lashes sweeping down to veil the glittering gold of his eyes.
A key rattled in the lock, but apparently someone thought better of barging in with no warning so that was followed by a tentative rap on the door.
Ash swore, but Clarinda couldn’t tell if it was out of disappointment or relief that the timely interruption had kept him from making a terrible mistake neither of them would have regretted.
“One moment, please,” he called out, touching a finger to his lips in warning.
He reached into his boot and withdrew a dagger. It wasn’t the ornate weapon Farouk had given him but an elegant little misericord, perfect for delivering the coup de grâce to an enemy on the battlefield.
“That won’t be necessary,” she whispered, raising both hands in the air. “I’ve learned my lesson. I promise I won’t try to ravish you again.”
Shooting her a dark look from beneath his lashes, he shoved up the sleeve of his shirt. “You were supposed to be a virgin, remember? They’ll expect to see blood.”
Clarinda was the one who flinched as he made a fist and drew the blade neatly across the inside of his forearm. He tossed back a fold of the sheet next to her hip and squeezed several drops of blood from the shallow slice onto the couch, creating a convincing pattern on the lavender sheets.
“We don’t want it to look like the scene of a murder,” he explained. “We just want to convince Farouk you’ve been telling him the truth from the beginning.”
“So that when he takes me to his bed, he won’t strangle me to death?” she asked glumly.
Ash jerked his sleeve back down to hide the cut and slipped the dagger back into his boot. “I have no intention of letting him do either one of those things. Locking us in may have ruined my original plan, but if I’ve learned anything in the past few years, it’s that a man has to be ready to think on his feet. Now that you’ve been
despoiled
—at least in Farouk’s eyes—I believe he’ll be much more likely to let you leave this place. Especially when I graciously offer to purchase you from him.”
“With what?” she asked disbelievingly.
“The money Max paid me to rescue you. I’ll have to send Luca to cash the cheque and it’s not as if Farouk has any need of more gold for his treasury, but it might just be enough of a gesture to soothe his wounded pride. Especially once I explain to him how falling desperately in love with you drove me insane with lust and impaired my judgment.”
Despite his mocking tone, his words still made Clarinda’s treacherous heart leap in her breast. “I do tend to have that effect on men,” she said drily. “It’s my curse. But why would you give up your precious reward? Despite your noble act of self-sacrifice last night, I didn’t think you were inclined toward charity work.”
Ash rose, crooking an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure Max will reimburse me for my trouble. As we both know, my brother is a man who always keeps his promises and pays his debts.”
He turned and strode to the door, leaving her as numb as if he had used the misericord to administer the coup de grâce to her heart. A heart that was even more defenseless than before after the night she had spent in his arms.
He swung open the door to reveal two of the harem guards waiting in the corridor. One of them was Solomon, his placid face and ebony eyes as unreadable as ever, and the other a stern-faced older eunuch Clarinda did not recognize.
“The sultan has commanded that you join him in breaking his fast,” the older man informed Ash. He glanced past Ash to where Clarinda was still huddled on the couch, his broad nostrils flaring in definite disdain. “And the woman as well.”
Although Poppy suspected she would probably do just as well languishing beneath the sheets of her sleeping couch feeling sorry for herself, she dutifully picked up a basket of
ktefa
from the palace kitchens and went trudging up the hillside to the garden overlooking the sea where she and Farouk had met every morning for the past week.