I’ve crossed a world of sand and tears in search of you.
Kas was right: a woman could destroy a man. This one could do so, simply by knowing his name. She could do so, simply with her eyes.
He smelled the salt on his own lips and the orange blossoms in her hair. Real ones, he could see now, tucked into the curls with cheap, native combs. The sight of them gave him hope.
Because you have my heart, Virgilia Wessex.” Softly, almost achingly. “Every black ounce of it. Scars and all.
No fairy tale, this. This was by no stretch of the imagination a polished fantasy. This was a searing, living force, rough around the edges, unfamiliar and bittersweet.And precious.
Looking back at him was a man who was battered and broken.And alive, for the first time in his life.
He wanted to die. He prayed for it. Through the roar in his ears, he begged for it.
Caine was a murderer. A liar. A cad. A skulker in shadows and a heartless wretch. What sort of woman or God would love someone like him?
He heard the voice that had called to him in dreams, had saved him from the sands and from following his brother into the river.
Caine might have smiled at her, had his heart not been breaking to smithereens inside of him.
Care for her. He was unworthy of such a gift. Unworthy of her blind trust and her sparkling, slightly crooked smiles, let alone her heart. But he wanted her, selfish fool he was and had always been. Care for her? Ah, God, she consumed him.
In a land that knew only dark beauty, she was something of a hybrid no one dared touch. But the tall Arab did not appear in the least daunted by her abnormality. No, she saw his eyes. He was not daunted in the least.
Somehow, I did not finger you for a treasure-hunter.”“Oh, but I am,” without shame. “Her name is Titianni Aziz.
Southern gentleman,” he said aside to him in Arabic. “Do you wish for me to continue this for you?”Caine’s temper shifted to a low simmer in his chest. “Your way takes too long.”“Ma’aleyk, and your way hurts my ears,” he argued.
He’d thought it would be the right thing to say, but she scoffed a little… and that, more than anything—more than the prospect of having his ribs crushed in or his face pulled off or his neck stretched on a rope—scared him out of his wits.
Oh, Lord, why was she doomed to adore a man steeped in blindness and utter stupidity?
He didn’t deserve compassion. Sympathy. Not even understanding. He deserved worse, far worse than he had ever been given.
Kent had begun sleeping with his good eye open, for he knew the mark of sedition when he saw it. Even partway blinded, who could see it better?
Remind me to thank God I don’t have a sister.”Caine eyed him critically. He was a filthy heap of blood and soot and sand stuck to the gun oil on his face. “Yeah,” without much enthusiasm. “I’ll thank Him for ya.
Are you in the habit of taking tea with anyone who approaches you in a foreign port?” He went on and snorted carelessly. “No wonder you were abducted so easily.
I will not marry Ashton. However bound by honor to do so, I will not marry Ashton. I will not marry, ever!” “Why not?”“Because I love you, you idiot!
She’d said she loved him. She’d put that impossible, unimaginably beautiful gift in his hands and he’d thrown it back at her. To save her. To save himself.
I’ve crossed a world of sand and tears in search of you. I love you. I’ve done nothing in my life worth more than that.
This man was no servant. She looked up at him in acute agitation and knew: this man was now her master.
Kent steepled his fingers in consideration. Blood-red rubies flashed in the sunlight, like the eyes of a demon clutched in his hands.
Anger swirled in him, a tempest readying her strike. And like a helpless vessel caught in her fury, he felt himself dashed against the rocks without mercy.
La mu’axsa, but I think I’ll just keep sliding down this greased pole to hell?
When silence greeted her question, she looked at Caine—for that was how he saw himself in that moment and in all the moments after: his brother’s murderer.
It came as naturally to him as breathing or lying, or worse. His mama had only taught her son to be cautious at all times. Garnette was more than that. Much, much more than that.