A shudder rattled her spine. Could she ever tame the king? Peel off layers of scab and touch the man? Her mother had taught her to tantalize, tempt, hold back until he was ready to promise his heart. Would he? Not only for one night, but until she was pregnant with his son?

She reached out and felt the Shah between the legs, taken by surprise at what she had imagined as smaller. Her laughter sprayed through the room like a shower of emerald beads.

He began to remove his cape. He must have her even if he lost his desire for her.

Surrounded by the flicker of long-stemmed candles, she tossed the cape back over his shoulders. “You, my shah, will remain fully dressed. Tonight I’ll introduce myself to you. You’ll know me intimately before you have me.”

The promise in her voice made him retreat.

Petals of lace slipped down to unfurl about her ankles. Her alabaster skin gleamed in the candle flames. Her fingertips traced the oval of her face, the almond-shaped sockets of her eyes, her earlobes soft as peach fuzz, the wetness in her mouth, down to her fragile neck and firm breasts, sketching the curves. She knelt on the carpet, her hands acquiring a life of their own, sliding over her buttocks, up to embrace her breasts, crushing them together. Responding to tiny pinches, her nipples hardened. Her torso swayed, her shoulders grazed the carpet, her hair cascading about, her thighs unfolding to reveal her hairless mound. Her fingers parted the lips, exposing the pink of her sex that glistened as if brushed with nectar.

Fighting the urge to taste her, he watched her unveil, a woman bent on exploring her own senses. A virginal girl with bold hands, who did not exhibit the shame that came from ancient religions, outdated rituals, or the constraints of her home. He had had girls of ten. He had had mature women. None were so intimate with their bodies.

Gold Dust heard the heaving of his chest, felt the sweep of his eyes. She sailed to the brazier. Lifting a pipe, she stuck a piece of opium to the edge.

“Not now.” He would remain alert. Understand this woman better.

“Draw deeply,” she insisted, parting his lips and fixing the stem of the pipe there. “Tomorrow will be yours.”

He dragged at the pipe, reclined and forced her down, searching her tiger eyes. The yellow of her irises reflected the temperament of a woman who would give him sons. “We are becoming impatient,” he said.

“My shah, I don’t want to follow the other sultanas.”

His breathing became shallow. His chest settled into a soft rhythm. His hair, shiny as the mane of a purebred horse, cascaded over his profile. His penciled brows, wiped off, left dark shadows, beneath which his restless eyes quivered under closed lids, grappling with the demons of his dreams. His shaved brows exaggerated the sharp outline of his features, the high forehead, the straight-arched nose, the full lips distinctly contoured as if with a painting brush.