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An Excerpt From: LUCIEN'S KHAMSIN
 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“Get out, Sibylline,” he ordered, his voice low and
dangerous.
“Not until she gets into your bed and spreads her legs
for you, my love,” the Queen of Revenants declared. “I want to see you rock
her world. I didn’t go to all this trouble finding her for you only to be
denied watching you screw her, Luc.”
“Get out!”
Khamsin jumped, for the command was bellowed at the top
of Lucien’s lungs and he was stalking toward the object of his anger. She
backed away, fear pumping her heart.
One moment Sibylline was lying there—sticking her tongue
out at Lucien—and the next she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of
jasmine.
“And stay out!” Lucien yelled.
Plastered against the wall, Khamsin watched as Lucien
picked up the settee and tossed it across the room as though it was a
feather. She flinched as it crashed into a mirror but relieved the surface
didn’t break. More bad luck was not needed in this room.
“She came to taunt me,” he said, plopping down in a chair.
“She’s good at that.” He buried his face in his hands. “Professionally so.”
Khamsin could find nothing to say so she stood where she
was, wringing her hands though her mind was working furiously.
“No,” he said, lifting his head to look at her through
the fan of his fingers. “I am not going to let you go and no, Sibylline
poses no threat to you, wench. You heard what she said—she found you for
me. I’d be stupid to throw her gift back in her face now, wouldn’t I?”
A flash of annoyance traveled through Khamsin’s blue
eyes and they snapped with fire. “I am no man’s gift, milord. Not even
yours!”
He settled back in the chair and lifted his foot to the
cushion, resting his wrist on his crooked knee. “You know what Christina
said about you?”
She shrugged.
“She said, ‘ This one will give you a run for your
money’.” He tilted his head to one side. “And I believe she was right. You
are not the frightened, meek little girl I expected.”
Khamsin raised her chin. “I am scared to death of you,
but I will not let you break my spirit. What you do to me, I can not
prevent, but I can voice my abhorrence to—”
“Abhorrence,” he echoed. “You abhor me, wench?”
Steepling his fingers, he thought about the meaning of the word. “You find
me repugnant?”
A wave of wrinkles formed on Khamsin’s smooth forehead.
“Perhaps I used the wrong word.”
“Then I’m not repugnant?”
She pursed his lips and tossed her head as though his
question was silly. “You know full well you are not, milord.”
He half-smiled. “Do you find me appealing?”
“I find the situation abhorrent,” she stated, nodding
firmly. “That was what I meant.”
“That isn’t what I asked, wench,” he countered. “Do you
find me appealing?”
Khamsin shook her head but didn’t answer.
“You don’t find me appealing?” he asked, shock making
his voice a bit shrill.
She almost laughed at the hurt look on his handsome face
but sucked in a quick breath instead as he rose slowly from the chair and
came toward her. Quickly she glanced behind her but there was nowhere for
her to run. The wall was only inches away.
“You don’t think I’m a good-looking man?” he asked, his
voice deep and sensual.
She backed up until she was pressed against the wall yet
he kept coming, stalking her like a big graceful cat, the muscles in his
shoulders bunching as he drew nearer.
“Is my hair unkempt?” he asked when he was but a foot
away.
Khamsin knew he was playing with her. In her mind, she
likened it to a cat teasing a helpless mouse and the illusion irritated her
so she kept silent.
He was so close to her she could smell the warm male
odor of him. It was a pleasant smell, even heady.
He braced his left hand on the wall beside her head and
leaned into her. “Does my breath smell?” he queried.
No, she thought and that surprised her. If
anything she would have thought his breath would hint of the grave, of
death—or at the very least—be iron-tinted from the blood he had consumed
from the day before.
“So,” he said, standing so close to her their bodies
were almost touching. “I have no body odor, my breath doesn’t stink and my
hair doesn’t look like I jammed my finger into a light socket.” His eyes
roamed her face. “What, exactly, is it you find unappealing?”
The heat from his body was causing her skin to prickle
and she could not keep from glancing down at his chest. The livid scars drew
her attention and she winced, knowing such mutilation would have caused
immense pain.
“At least that part of me fascinates you,” he drawled.
“I guess you don’t find it abhorrent.”
“Stop reading my mind,” she said through clenched teeth.
He held up his right hand as though surrendering to her
command, but said nothing. He simply leaned further toward her so she was
forced to put her hands on his chest to keep him at bay.
Electrical current passed through Khamsin’s palms and
she groaned. He had automatically pressed closer so that now her hands were
trapped between their bodies.
“Am I ugly?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, for her blood was
racing so hard through her veins she could feel it pounding in her head—and
between her legs.
“Am I too short?”
Again she shook her head.
“Am I deformed in some way you find intolerable?”
“You know you’re not,” she forced out the reply.
“Then—for the sake of argument—let’s say you find me
handsome.”
Khamsin looked up into his eyes. He was a good foot taller
than her, towering over her in such a way she felt even shorter. The backs
of her hands were pressing into her breasts.
“Let’s say you find me virile and sexy and altogether
attractive.”
Those pale green eyes were delving into her soul and she
was caught by them—intrigued by the golden flecks that seemed to swirl
through the irises.
“Let’s say,” he purred, his voice low and sultry, “that
your body is stirred by the nearness of mine.”
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