Free The Pleasure of Your Kiss by Teresa Medeiros

yearning. On the contrary, he looked more inclined to step over her body as she lay gasping her last in some filthy gutter. Or to give her the cut direct in a crowded ballroom before a throng of gawking onlookers.
    She had to blink more than once to dispel the image of the beautiful boy she remembered from her youth. The jaded stranger who stood before her now was every inch a man. A man who looked as if he’d be more at home in a seedy saloon than an elegant salon. Wind, sand, and time had polished away all traces of youth and vulnerability, leaving him lean and hard and infinitely more dangerous than the boy who had walked out of her life all those years ago. Flecks of sand clung to his sun-baked skin, catching like powdered gold dust in the rakish hint of beard stubble shadowing his jaw and upper lip.
    Clarinda had tried to convince Poppy the scandal-sheet artist must have flattered him, but just as she had secretly feared, the artist had failed to do him justice. A thin, diagonal scar that was new to her, yet plainly old to him, marred the perfection of a strong chin that was neither too pointed nor too squared. The bridge of his nose was no longer flawlessly aligned but canted to the right by a degree that would only be noticed by someone who had spent hours lovingly tracing every inch of his features, both with her fingertips and in her memory. The grooves bracketing his mouth had deepened, making her wonder if his devil-may-care dimple had vanished forever, left on some battlefield somewhere between England and Morocco.
    Oddly enough, those fresh flaws only added to his rugged appeal. His was the face of a man who had lived hard and fought harder. That, more than anything, was what made her long to tenderly press her mouth to the scar beneath his chin so her lips might memorize it as well.
    She drew in a deep breath, hoping it would calm the rushing in her ears, the mad flutter of the pulse in her throat. She had no business entertaining such scandalous thoughts when she was promised to another man. Especially when that man just happened to be his brother.
    It was nearly impossible to inject the perfect note of disdain into her voice when she was fighting so hard to keep it from trembling. “Speaking of villains, Your Majesty,” she inquired of Farouk, “what on earth is he doing here?”
    “You know this man?”
    Clarinda didn’t dare tip back her head to steal a peek at Farouk’s face in that moment, but she could hear the jealous scowl in his voice. “I know of him. As does every woman in England with more than a passing acquaintance with the more torrid scandal sheets.”
    Farouk’s granite-hard muscles relaxed beneath her hand as a chuckle rumbled up from deep in his chest. “Ah, Burke the Younger, it seems your reputation precedes you!”
    “So they tell me,” Ash said smoothly. “Although I can assure you my exploits have been much exaggerated by men with too little adventure in their own lives and too much time—and ink—on their hands. Only the most vapid and empty-headed of creatures would give credence to what they write.”
    Although his tone was deliberately pleasant, Clarinda felt her eyes narrow.
    Before she could form a retort, Farouk came to her defense, his voice still ripe with amusement. “I can assure you this creature’s lovely head is full of clever thoughts. Much to my own detriment and the detriment of any man who would seek to match wits with her, I fear.” He tugged her around to face him, giving her a scowl that would have made most men tremble in their boots. “If not, she would be safely tucked away in my harem right now instead of flitting about the palace like a naughty little butterfly.”
    “When the women started whispering about what had happened, I just had to make sure you were all right, so I coaxed Solomon into letting me out for a bit.” Keenly aware of Ash’s heavy-lidded gaze upon her, Clarinda gave Farouk a distressed look from beneath the silky length of