The Pleasure of Your Kiss by Teresa Medeiros Page A

patience exhausted, she wheeled on Poppy, snatching her hem back into her possession as she did so. “Poppy, please! It’s bad enough to have to parade around in front of the whole world in this ridiculous getup. I’d rather not have to march the rest of the way back to the harem as naked as on the day I was born!”
    Poppy’s good-natured smile drooped; her lower lip began to tremble in a manner Clarinda recognized all too well.
    Clarinda sighed, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, touching two fingertips to one of her throbbing temples. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that the arrival of these unexpected visitors has set my every nerve on edge.”
    At that moment all she desired was a moment of privacy to sort through the maddening whirl of her thoughts. It had taken her nearly two hours to escape Farouk’s cheerful company after he had ordered a pair of servants to escort his guests to their private chambers. He had insisted upon reliving his adventure of the morning for her, poring over every detail of his rescue from his attackers while she struggled to remain dutifully doe-eyed and exclaim, “My goodness!” and, “Did he really?” at all of the pertinent moments when all she could see was Ash thundering down some sandy bluff with the reins of his horse between his teeth and a blazing pistol in each hand.
    She had finally managed to excuse herself by pleading an all-too-real headache, only to find Poppy waiting to pounce on her the moment she left the courtyard.
    She had no right to chide Poppy for her naïveté when her own heart was still veering wildly between shock and hope. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dreamed of being rescued from this place. Her fiancé was a powerful man. It had been difficult to believe Maximillian would just shrug off her abduction and disappearance as if she were an unfortunate investment he had made at the Exchange.
    But as the weeks had passed without the palace being stormed by a regiment of his men, her hopes had dimmed. When she closed her eyes on her sleeping couch at night and drifted into a fitful sleep, it was no longer Max’s dear face with its strong brow and resolute chin that she saw but the face of another man—a man she had struggled to erase from both her memory and her heart.
    To have him melt out of the desert like a dream after all these years made her want to pinch herself to see if she was truly awake. She supposed in some stubborn corner of her heart she had never stopped believing he would come for her someday. Never stopped hoping that the promises he had made after they had tumbled into her cloak had been more than empty words carefully crafted to seduce a foolish and innocent girl who would have done anything to make him stay.
    She was no longer a foolish girl, and that corner of her heart had been walled off long ago with the jagged shards of those broken promises. She had lost so much more than just her innocence that morning and in the dark days that had followed. If she had anything to say about it, Ash would never know just how much his leaving had cost her. At least then she might be able to salvage her pride.
    As difficult as it was for the woman she had become to believe Ash had come for her on his own, it was even more impossible to believe Maximillian would have sent him. Unlike his brother, Max only gambled when the odds were in his favor, and he would know better than anyone else that throwing the two of them together again was an extremely risky toss of the dice—especially for Max.
    Catching Poppy’s wrist to draw her closer, Clarinda cast an uneasy glance around them, half expecting to see Farouk’s uncle Tarik or one of the man’s many spies lurking behind some colorful tapestry or priceless urn. The ancient palace was honeycombed with trapdoors and secret passages. Tarik had made no secret of his distrust of his nephew’s English guests , and in this place the walls really could have ears.
    She