The Pleasure of Your Kiss by Teresa Medeiros Read Free Book Online

he was about to abduct.
    For nearly three-quarters of an hour he had been watching Zin al-Farouk, the current sultan of El Jadida, drive his mount back and forth across the valley road below as if pursued by some foe only he could see.
    “Why don’t you go down there and ask him yourself, Captain?” Ash’s companion suggested, popping another grape in his mouth before taking a long, noisy swig from the canteen in his hand.
    Ash lowered the spyglass long enough to give Luca a sideways glare. His friend and frequent comrade-in-arms was lounging behind the rock next to Ash’s as if he had nothing better to do than spend the morning sunning himself beneath the relentless rays of the Moroccan sun. The product of a brief but passionate union between an Italian count and a beautiful Gypsy girl, Luca’s angelic good looks were surpassed only by his talent for indolence. The negligible effort of riding their horses to the top of the bluff so they could get a clear view of the desert road below had apparently sapped what little energy he had. If they didn’t act soon, he would probably curl up behind the rock for an afternoon nap.
    Ash reached over to snatch the canteen from his friend’s hand, discovering to his exasperation that it was nearly empty. “I hired you to help me abduct the sultan, not drink up all of our provisions before noon.”
    “ Hired would imply there was actually some expectation of payment for my services,” Luca drawled. “I’ve yet to see so much as a gold sovereign cross my palm.”
    Ash slipped the canteen into the leather satchel slung across his chest, avoiding his friend’s knowing eyes. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can get to a proper bank and cash a cheque. I told you I’d experienced a recent setback to my own finances.”
    “And by any chance did that setback have big brown eyes, long dark hair, and a most spectacular pair of—”
    “Quiet!” Ash snapped, retraining his spyglass on the road as the sultan wheeled his mount around at the far end of the valley and came pounding back down its length, each strike of the horse’s hooves sending up a golden plume of sand. “Here he comes again.”
    This time Luca actually stirred himself long enough to peek over the top of his rock. With his dark-lashed ebony eyes, flowing white robes, and the untamed mane of sooty curls tucked beneath the traditional kaffiyeh wound around his olive-skinned brow, Luca could easily have passed for a native Moroccan himself.
    Since Ash’s golden eyes and light brown hair made such a disguise impractical if not impossible, his own buff riding breeches, ivory lawn shirt, and loose-fitting cutaway coat were designed to blend into the endless vista of sand and sun. As he studied their quarry through the spyglass, he absently stroked his jaw, welcoming the familiar prickle of beard stubble against his palm. At least he no longer felt like a shorn lamb.
    “Now, why would the man go out riding without his guard?” he murmured. “It’s almost as if he’s begging to be ambushed.”
    Even without his guard, the sultan appeared to be a formidable opponent. His crimson cloak rippled over the flanks of a massive black steed that looked to be more dragon than horse. Ash wouldn’t have been surprised if puffs of smoke had come belching from the beast’s flared nostrils. The man sat his ornate, silver-trimmed saddle like some emperor of old, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers and an open black vest beneath his cloak. The well-defined slabs of muscle in his broad chest and upper arms were clearly visible as he snapped the reins to urge the stallion into a harder gallop.
    Ash’s gaze followed those arms down to the powerful hands wrapped around the leather reins. An image of those sun-bronzed hands splayed against snowy flesh danced through his brain, darkening the yellow sun to the color of blood.
    Luca’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “You all right, Cap? You look a trifle bit