Free The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand by Siobhan Muir

lots o’ rich girls, eh?” His brows lowered and doubt filled his voice. “An’ how did ya do that, mate? Same way with the whores?”
    “Nah, them rich girls, they like sweet words the poets and singers use.” Iliana fluttered her eyes at him and the other men chuckled. “Ye have to sing sweetly to get those flowers to bloom, but I’ve had many a girl grateful for me sweet talking.” And she waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
    Brandon laughed. “I'd like to see such a sweet talker.” He crossed his arms over his chest, challenge in his eyes. “What do ya say, mates? Would ya like to see my young mate sweet talk one o’ the ladies?”
    Cheers rose around the tavern from the other patrons who’d caught their conversation. They’d have to be deaf not to. Brandon gave her a smirk and dipped his chin. She shot him a dry look and snorted, but turned her gaze around the room at the crowd. She shook her head in mock-defeat and slid off her stool.
    “Very well, m’lads.” She gave them a cock-sure smile, then focused on Brandon. “But let’s put a little something riding on this wager. I could use a new dagger for me traveling days.”
    “Can’t we all, mate?”
    “A dagger fer a kiss.”
    “Yeah, all right. One dagger for a lady’s kiss.” Brandon raised his glass and laughed. The warm, throaty sound rumbled through her and made her shiver.
    Focus on the ladies .
    Iliana surveyed the crowd in the packed room. Men leaned together making side wagers on whether Ian or Brandon would win the bet. Some of the whores around the room met Iliana's eyes with a coy and suggestive wink, but a prostitute would be too easy. It was her job to accept any offer, and Iliana had no intention of taking it beyond a kiss. While not opposed to a female lover, especially at the beginning of her film career when beggars for work couldn’t be choosers, she much preferred the masculine form. Despite all the trouble they are. She wanted to impress Brandon with her skill, not undress a woman for someone else’s delight.
    One of the barmaids met her gaze and grimaced as Iliana nodded to her. She wore an expression of jaded reluctance in her wide-set gray eyes under black arched brows. Those eyes narrowed as Iliana advanced on her, and she tossed her coal-black braid over her shoulder as she dropped one hand on her hip.
    All right, darlin’. Let’s dance.
    Iliana offered barmaid a compassionate smile, holding out her hand to the woman in supplication. The barmaid watched Iliana with a resigned air, her body language screaming resigned exasperation. Time to step up the game.
    Iliana bowed. “Mistress, with yer permission, I wish for a few moments of yer precious time. Would ye be willing to grant a man such a boon?”
    The barmaid raised an elegant eyebrow before she glanced over her shoulder at the bartender. He smirked and waved his towel at her. She grimaced and sighed, but nodded to Iliana’s request. Iliana drew her raven-haired companion back to her stool, ignoring the exchanges of money going on as they passed.
    Brandon’s smile had faded in wattage as Iliana focused all her attention on the barmaid. The woman returned her gaze with flat indifference.
    “Mistress, I can see from yer expression ye have seen and heard it all from many a man who wanders across yer path.” Iliana rubbed her thumbs gently over the backs of the woman’s hand. “And I don’t blame ye fer thinkin’ I’ll be just the same. But, mistress, rarely have I seen such a one as ye, with raven-black hair as soft as the finest silk brought from across the sands east.”
    Iliana gently brushed a lock of black hair from the woman’s eyes, skimming her cheek with the backs of her fingers. “’Tis soft, m’lads, softer than the caress o’ moonlight upon the green hills o’ me home. And yer eyes, mistress, hold within them the wisdom of the ages and the tempests of the sea. Gray, silver gray, and deep enough ta drown in. One look from those eyes and I