Master of Pleasure by Delilah Marvelle Page B

set her nose against his chest. “He’s only six.”
    That seductive scent of pepper and vanilla drifted from her skin again, taunting him. It teased him into wanting to rip clothing and scrape all of his teeth against her skin. Not. Good.
    Malcolm instantly released her hand, the muscles in his body tightening. Digging into his pocket, he grudgingly pulled out his gloves and yanked them on, adjusting them around each finger. “The boy should learn how to defend himself.”
    “No blades,” she countered. “He’s too young. He’ll hurt himself.”
    Maybe the boy was too young. Maybe if he and his brother hadn’t been allowed access to so many dangerous things in their youth due to absolutely no supervision, their lives would have been different. Maybe. It was always maybe. “All right. Fine. No blades.”
    “Thank you.” She hesitated and then patted his arm as if he were a dog who pleased her. “You may go now.”
    This woman was going to exhaust the hell out of him. Puffing out a breath, he left.

That afternoon
    The double mahogany doors leading into the lavish private quarters of His Royal Highness, Prince Nasser as-Din Qajar, were swept open. Two dark-skinned Persians dressed in identical flowing emerald-green garbs bound by thick, red sashes around their waists pulled back doors on command.
    Without waiting to be formally announced by the wigged butler in livery, Malcolm strode in, his boots thudding against the gleaming white marble. A line of servants departed the large receiving room and the doors he entered through closed, leaving him to address the prince alone.
    He hadn’t seen his dear friend in eight months. It was the longest they’ve ever been apart.
    Malcolm paused in astonishment, realizing Nasser had abandoned his traditional style of Persian garb his father expected of him. Instead, the man was dressed in all black, save a blue silk cravat and a blue embroidered waistcoat.
    Looking very much like any other upper-class European, Nasser was stretched out on a green velvet chaise in black wool trousers and polished boots. His favorite book, the Kama Shastra , was angled open just below his square shaven jaw. It was a new man. Even Nasser’s black hair, which was usually finger-tousled was meticulously swept back with tonic, mimicking the latest French style.
    “What the hell are you wearing?” Malcolm drawled, removing his gloves and tossing them onto a nearby table. “Did all of New York grab you by the turban? I don’t like it. You look like everyone else.”
    “That is exactly the point, Dalir . I am trying to look like everyone else. I think I look dashing.” Glancing up from his book, Nasser’s dark eyes brightened. He tossed the book aside and swiveled off the chaise, rising. His mouth quirked. “By Allah, how I have missed you and your gruff ways. My time in New York City was worth nothing without you there. Nothing. Because you are and will always be the love of my life. The moment you tell me you are ready to be my man, I will gladly abscond from my crown. Then you and I can disappear into the Caribbean and share… coconuts .”
    Not in the least bit amused, Malcolm came to a halt before him. “You and I have to talk.”
    Nasser spread out both hands. “At long last. He wishes to have a conversation. I gather there is a perfectly viable reason as to why you never once wrote to me whilst I was all those months in New York. I am rather…how do you English say… miffed with you. You have no respect for my love.”
    “On the contrary.” Malcolm stared him down. “I took a year leave from my position to help you with this mess. And if I may say, this is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. Your association with Miss Grey is unholy.”
    “Pfah. You think everything is unholy.”
    Malcolm glared. “You sent me into London because you wanted me to look into Lord Banfield’s life and give you an opinion you can trust. And I’m giving it to you. Lord Banfield has been in love