She bent her head and kicked away her sandals. Then she pulled her shorts—harem pants—over her legs and cast them aside. When she looked up, she saw her owner standing in the bedroom door, a slightly befuddled expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. Ha! Easy for him! He wasn’t staring death in the face!

She was wearing only her bra and panties. Lifting her chin, she gazed at him defiantly. He might possess her body, but she’d never let him have her soul!

He moved toward her, his confidence restored. Of course he was confident. She’d be confident, too, if she had an army of guards stationed right outside the door, ready to drag a disobedient slave girl to her death if she didn’t submit.

He stopped in front of her and gazed down, his green eyes raking her body. If she’d left her top on, he would have torn it off with his dagger … no, his teeth!

He burned up her skin with those imperious eyes. What if she didn’t please him? Such a merciless master demanded more from her than simple submission. He demanded cooperation! And (she’d just remembered) he’d vowed to have her dearest friend, the gentle slave girl Melissa, tortured to death if he was displeased. No matter how it destroyed her pride, she must satisfy him!

To save Melissa.

She lifted her arms and cradled his magnificent jaw between her hands, desperately trying to gentle this barbarian. She leaned forward and pressed her innocent lips to his cruel ones—cruelly, cruelly … sweet.

She sighed and teased him with the tip of her tongue. When he opened his mouth, she invaded. How could she do anything else when she had poor, gentle Melissa’s life to protect?

His hands splayed over her bare back, moved up to the clasp of her bra. Her skin quivered. The clasp fell open.

He gripped her shoulders and took over the kiss. Then he tugged off her bra and cast it aside.

His mouth left hers. His jaw scraped her cheek. “Molly …”

She didn’t want to be Molly. If she were Molly, she’d have to grab her clothes and put them right back on, because Molly wasn’t self-destructive.

She was only a slave girl, and she bowed her head submissively as he drew back and gazed down at her naked breasts, now exposed to his predatory emerald eyes. She shivered and waited. Cotton rustled as he drew his T-shirt—his silken robe—over his head and tossed it aside. She squeezed her eyes shut when he pulled her against him, his conqueror’s chest pressed to her naked, defenseless breasts.