Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(2)

Her eyes swept the room before coming to rest on him slumped in the shadows. Lifting his head for just a second, he hoped that his sympathetic look of support would give her strength. Her beauty made him believe, for just a moment, that there was a God. Only a heavenly force could have made something so innocent and so lovely.

Apparently Murad had had the same thought.

“Don’t be shy, my beauty. Let us see what exquisiteness Allah hath wrought on you.”

With hands at her side, she stood trembling, her head lowered in shame, while Murad walked slowly around her, touching her shamelessly.

“There is no need to be scared, little one.”

At the word scared, her shoulders straightened and she lifted her head against the dishonorable onslaught of the sultan’s intrusive hands.

The image of her with her head held high despite her nakedness, her small pert breasts heaving in her attempt to hide her fear, sheen from the heat on her fine porcelain skin, and the curl of disdain on her lips, would be forever imprinted on his brain. He had never seen anything more magnificent.

But Murad’s next words chilled his heart.

“Men would kill to possess one such as you. I am going to have to guard you well. Paval tells me you’re an innocent, and he wants a great deal of money for you.” Murad reached out and squeezed her nubile breasts. It must have hurt, because he caught the grimace that flickered in the depth of her fiery emerald eyes.

The spoiler of innocents moved closer to his prey.

“Perhaps I will take you here on this table to ensure I’m getting what I paid for. You’re welcome to fight. I like a girl with spirit.” Murad was practically drooling now.

Alex’s stomach heaved. The rage brewing in him at the thought of the man raping the girl almost overwhelmed him. He unclenched his fists but waited; the time for action was not quite here.

Suddenly, the sound of a hand slamming hard against flesh resounded around the shadowed room. His admiration grew. She’d slapped Murad’s face. Her voice when it came caressed him like a cool breeze, swirling around him until he was completely off balance.

“That’s the only fight you’ll get from me, you piece of filth. You may be able to take my body, but you’ll never take my soul.” And then she did the unforgivable. She spat on her would-be rapist.

Alex’s body coiled, ready for action, but it was too late to stop the instant backhand blow Murad dealt her. The force sent her sprawling unconscious across the drink-littered tables. With a cry the sultan fell on her, one hand gripping her face, hunting for her mouth to receive his slobbering kisses, the other fumbling within his robes.

Frantically, Alex looked around. Where were his men? Yet even without them, he had to act. If he didn’t, Murad would take the girl on the table, in front of him.

Without thinking, he stood up and called from the shadows, “So the mighty Murad first has to steal his women and then has to knock them out in order to take his pleasure. It goes to show women have excellent taste.”

At his words Murad swung to face him. A smile began to play across his cruel lips. “What a…pleasant…surprise, Alexander. I did not know you were back on Mykonos.”

“Forgive me. You weren’t top of my calling card list.”

With an evil laugh, Murad said, “Quite so, but how quickly you forget. I don’t need to knock my conquests out, as it doesn’t take me long to have them begging for my touch.” His leer grew as he added, “You of all people should understand my power. As I recall, you would have done almost anything for me—once.”

Alex shuddered as repressed memories, disgusting and degrading, flashed before him. Out of the corner of his eye, a movement to his left showed the warriors moving to Murad’s side. With a relaxed smile, he leaned against the back wall; they would not take him from behind.

“How long has it been, Alex? Far too long, I think. I have missed your beauty in my palace.” Murad’s tone became cajoling. “I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing my altin kole—my golden slave—again.”

He snarled. “Don’t you call me that or I’ll forget my manners. I’m not your slave, not any longer. All I want is the girl.”

Murad stroked his mustache and with a sly smile cooed, “She is a beauty, but are you sure that is all you want?”

Murad gestured toward the tavern keeper. “Paval, bring us a pipe. As I recall, opium was more of an allure for you than even a woman. There is no need for hostilities. Are we not old friends? Come, my Adonis, I have some of the finest opium with me. Let us lose ourselves in dreamland and perhaps, like old times, we can share the girl. I’d even let you have her first. Anything for you, my fair boy.”

Paval approached. At the first waft of the sickly sweet smell from the opium pipe, Alex’s mouth filled with saliva and adrenaline surged through his veins. No, not again. He would not give in to his past addiction. Momentarily, he basked in memories of the ecstasy the narcotic would give him. His hands itched to take the pipe, while the voice in his head thundered no; the rapture was merely an illusion.

He looked at the smirk on Murad’s face and almost retched. He’d die before he let himself become Murad’s plaything again. He might not have fully broken his addiction, but God damn it, he was here to rescue the girl. He owed her father. A river of sweat poured between his shoulders. He would have to master his driving need for the drug’s compassionate relief.