Free The Pleasure of Your Kiss by Teresa Medeiros Page A

her lashes. “You’re not angry with me, are you? I couldn’t bear it if I made you cross.”
    Farouk’s scowl melted into an adoring grin. “See what I mean?” he asked Ash over her head. “This one can charm even a eunuch into doing her bidding. How could any red-blooded man hope to resist her?”
    “I’m sure it would be a challenge,” Ash murmured, although from his skeptical expression one might deduce he would have little difficulty doing so.
    Farouk splayed his big, warm hand against Clarinda’s back, urging her closer to Ash against her will. “It is my great honor to present to you Clarinda Cardew. She is my … ” He trailed off awkwardly, as if his impeccable command of the English language had suddenly deserted him.
    Was it Clarinda’s imagination or was Ash holding his breath?
    “ … guest,” Farouk finally finished with more than a trace of regret.
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Cardew,” Ash replied, dragging off the battered wide-brimmed hat that would have made a less imposing man look like a common ditchdigger. The same sun that had toasted every inch of his exposed skin to a warm honeyed hue had also woven errant strands of gold through the caramel brown of his hair.
    Clarinda had hoped for nothing more unsettling from him than a polite bow, but as Ash bowed, he captured her hand and brought the back of it to his mouth. The moist heat of his parted lips against her skin dredged up a host of memories. Most of which were best left buried.
    An all-too-familiar devilment sparked in his deep-set, amber eyes as his gaze met hers over their joined hands. “Or would you prefer I address you as ‘Little English Buttercup’?”
    Clarinda tried to wiggle her hand free from his grip but he held fast, refusing to relinquish it. “‘Miss Cardew’ will suffice, sir. And I can assure you the pleasure is all mine.”
    “That’s not how I remember it,” Ash murmured beneath his breath, the timbre of his voice so deep it was audible only to her ears.
    This time he did not protest when she snatched her hand from his and retreated to Farouk’s side. “Since your head is still firmly attached to your neck, I’m assuming you weren’t among the band of cutthroats who tried to waylay the sultan, Mr. … Burke the Lesser, was it?”
    The mocking glint in Ash’s eyes hardened to something more dangerous. She blinked innocently at him.
    “I owe this man my life,” Farouk proclaimed in his booming baritone. “If Burke here didn’t have the bold heart of a tiger, it would be my head rotting in the desert heat right now.”
    Someone cleared his throat pointedly. Clarinda realized for the first time that Ash hadn’t come alone. She had been so stunned by his miraculous appearance she had mistaken the man at his elbow in the flowing white robes and traditional kaffiyeh for one of Farouk’s servants. The stranger’s dark, liquid eyes had been following every nuance of their exchange with undisguised fascination.
    “I would be remiss not to give equal credit to Burke’s man here,” Farouk amended, earning a smug smirk from Ash’s companion. “He was clever enough to offer his throat to one of the villains as a distraction while his master dispatched the rest of them.”
    The man’s smirk vanished, only to reappear on Ash’s lips. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Luca D’Arcangelo,” Ash interjected smoothly. “My friend and comrade-in-arms in more battles than I care to remember.”
    Luca had the full, sensual lips and drowsy eyes of a born lover. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, cara mia ,” he said to Clarinda. “Surely the humble buttercup does not do your beauty justice. I would be more inclined to compare your charms to those of a more rare and exotic flower, a night-blooming lily perhaps, whose scent has been known to drive even the most iron-willed of men to abandon all reason and embrace the madness of unbridled desire.”
    As Luca sauntered forward as if he had every