The Pirate Prince by Connie Mason

his lanky frame.
    The shadows draping him parted as he stalked toward the bed. She watched him approach; there was a commanding power inherent in each long, prowling step.
    His eyes were heavy-lidded and glinted silver beneath dark, sweeping brows. He looked pure Turk and terrifying, until she looked into his eyes. A hint of something tender lurked within those silver depths.
    His lips were full and boldly sensual, and his luxuriant lashes softened his angular face. His lips were pursed now, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. She caught her breath as he leaned over her and then quickly straightened. She heard him mutter something beneath his breath.
    She stared up at him. “Is something wrong?”
    “Nay.” He stroked her cheek. “Your skin is as soft as rose petals.” He studied her in silent contemplation. “There is an old crone in Istanbul who is said to be able to repair a woman’s hymen and return her to a state of virginity.”
    Willow blinked.
    He sat on the edge of the bed. “I have been watching you all night. You have no idea how badly I want you.” His hand stroked downward, sweeping over her breasts. “I am going to kill Abdul for touching you. ’Tis a just punishment.”
    She shuddered. “Isn’t that a bit drastic?”
    “ ’Tis no more than he deserves.”
    “Can you not show him mercy?”
    “You ask mercy for a cur that nearly raped you?”
    “Death seems so cruel.”
    “Very well, for you I will be merciful. I will sever the hand that defiled you.”
    “Cut off his hand?”
    “Aye, and he will thank me for it.”
    His hand paused near the top button of her shirt.
    She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”
    “I merely wish to see if your scratches are festering.”
    “I can check them myself.”
    His hand rose to her hair, stroking gently. He lifted a shiny strand and brought it to his mouth. The finest silk paled in comparison to the softness of Willow’s hair. He inhaled deeply of the scent of roses, then let the tress slip through his fingers.
    “The scent of your innocence tempts me beyond endurance.”
    He removed the sheet shielding her from him. If he couldn’t have her, he would at least look his fill. He hadspent the night in agony. He had never lacked willpower until he crossed paths with this green-eyed houri who stole his wits and made him forget his purpose.
    “What are you doing?” Willow cried, tugging the sheet from his hand.
    He dragged the linen to the foot of the bed. “I want to undress you, to fill my eyes with your beauty. I want to see for myself the treasure I am preserving. This has not been a pleasant night for me. You will have your revenge upon Abdul, but I cannot have what I desire.”
    The dawn of a new day chased away the shadows, revealing Willow’s stunned expression. “Why do you desire me? I am sure you have seen women more beautiful than I.”
    Dariq could not stifle his groan. It took little imagination to envision Willow’s nipple in his mouth, rising against the stroking of his tongue. He could even imagine the taste of her skin. Fighting the force of his need, he dragged his eyes from her body and his mind from the pit of lust.
    “Only a fool or a eunuch would not want you. You do yourself no credit by denying your beauty. Englishmen must be blind if they do not see what I see.”
    “Proper English gentlemen speak of beauty without offending a woman’s sensibilities. They write poetry to her eyebrows, or the sweetness of her voice.”
    Dariq laughed. “Pray Allah I will never become a gentleman.” His voice took on a husky quality. “I could make love to you without breaching your maidenhead. I could teach you things that Ibrahim would thank me for. The body is a sensitive instrument made to give and receive pleasure. We could spend hours, nay, days in bed and you would still go to Ibrahim a virgin, technically speaking.”
    Willow shrank away from him. “You speak of sinfulthings I do not understand. Pray do not touch