This was her art form, her body painting a picture only to entrance and excite the observer. Though she loved to tease and play with him, she performed this seductive dance as a parting gift to him.

The kuchi bells chimed with every step as if to praise her coordination in this dance of seduction.

“You’re very pleasing tonight, Jinan.” His reply was hoarse, his pupils dilated in arousal.

He seemed relaxed, but she was no fool. Both were aware of the drummers in the main room and the other patrons in the Pleasure Gardens. Eunuchs stood guarding the exterior entrance, and her personal attendant stood outside the alcove, waiting to take her to her private quarters once the session concluded.

Other patrons would see her silhouette moving through the wind-caressed silks hanging around them.

There was no privacy here.

And on this night—her last night—with Rothburn, she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. She opened her eyes and focused only on him and none of the distractions around them.

He was aroused. His hand cupped the bulge pressed firmly against his trousers.

He worked one big hand over his straining rod in long, slow strokes—how she wanted to place her hand there, though she was equally aroused watching him thus. His head rested against the high-backed chair—the only piece of furniture besides the divan in the room—and his eyes were lowered to watch the thrust and grind of her hips.

Jinan bit her lip to muffle a sound of pleasure. She loved pleasing this man. Time spent with him was a chance to live the life she’d wanted and imagined all those years ago when she’d first laid eyes upon the Marquess of Rothburn. But that life was no more.

For their last time in each other’s arms, she would give him everything. She’d indulge in every pleasure of the senses he offered, simply for a memory. One that would have to last the rest of her life.

Fingers trailing up her inner thigh, she pulled aside the sheer fabric of the blue scarves. Rothburn, obviously pleased, grunted. Shrugging off his jacket, he made short work of his waistcoat. When it fell to the floor, the sound was reminiscent of the bells worn on her ankles. Perhaps a new bauble jangled in the pocket—a parting gift to bestow upon her.

“Take your veil down.”

She shook her head no.

“I want to see you tonight, Jinan.” His tone was oddly pleading. This man rarely pleaded. He ordered and took all part of his disposition that she loved most.

Ignoring his request, Jinan reached for his lordship’s neckcloth and pulled the simple knot loose. “Do you wish to tie me, my lord?” she whispered against his lips, a scant inch from touching them.

Oh, how she wanted to take possession of his tempting mouth. The need to press her lips to his burned in the pit of her belly, branding her insides as hot as the desert air that swept through the palace during high summer.

Did he understand the power he held over her love-hungry heart?

Her warm breath mingled hot with his as she waited for his answer. The silk separating them shifted back and forth with each of their exhalations, tickling her jaw and chin. So tempting.

One of his hands brushed over her hip, her breast, down her arm, causing a delightful shiver in its wake. He relieved her of the neckcloth and remained silent for some moments. “Turn around.” The firmness returned to his voice.

Her eyes met his in what felt like an eternity of longing, of lost time between them. A flicker of regret reflected in his gaze. Oh, how she craved something fresh. To keep her remembering what it was to be touched by this particular man.

She needed something more to remember him till her dying day.

Though in reality, he was impossible to forget.

This man made her feel. Feel as though her heart hadn’t shriveled and died long ago. Feel as though she could afford tender emotions for someone aside from her son and harem sisters. What a fool she was to have fallen in love with him.

Thank God above, this was the last time she would see him. She’d become too attached these past months. Too excited from a mere glance of Rothburn. The sight of him gave her hope for a different life, one which included him, and that was impossible after all her years in the harem.

She turned her back to him, her hips again moving erotically to the music as his hands grasped her tapered waist and squeezed. His fingers pinched just under her ribs.

That one sweet touch made her breath catch and her dancing stilled in expectation. She wasn’t sure what she wanted and swallowed back the emotion that threatened to crack her carefully erected façade.

He dropped his hands with a sigh, and she immediately missed the strong, supporting feel of them. But he wasn’t done touching her. Hands skimmed the bare flesh of her calves, her thighs, her buttocks as he gave each cheek a light squeeze. Then he pushed the blue silk of her scarves forward and over her hips to expose her rear. He didn’t rise from the chair as he sat motionless behind her. She moved in time to the music again. At least her body knew what to do. Her mind seemed lost in the high seas of hopefulness.

Dancers’ bells could be heard from the other pleasure alcoves. The beat of the drum was savage, primal, and echoed around their niche, rousing the animalistic urge to sit astride this man until they both writhed in mutual ecstasy. Rothburn restrained her hips between his hands, his breath searing her already overheated skin.

Her slit was slippery and aching to be caressed by his clever hand.

She wanted him to kiss her. Bite her. Mark her as his as a parting gift.

She waited, breath held tight in her lungs as the stubble of his jaw scratched over the smooth flesh of her bare buttocks. She pressed back in invitation.

He took his time, his tongue laving where his beard abraded her skin. The sharp sting of his bite made her tighten one cheek.

“A shame this is to end so soon.” His hand dropped from her hip to knead into her backside. Was it to gauge her reaction to his firm touch or for her to react to his regret-filled words?

“Yes, my lord.” She arched forward. She was helpless to stifle the mewling sound that escaped her throat.

She needed him so badly.

His fingers slid higher between her thighs until he cupped the smooth, hairless flesh of her mound. The air whooshed from her lungs as longing was replaced with desperate desire. Teeth marked her hip in a feral, primal gesture; he slipped one finger into her wet core as far as it would go and left it there unmoving, teasing her. Inner muscles clenched around him.

He must know she wanted so much more than this. She rocked forward a minute amount, breaking his phantom hold on her mind as her body moved in need of deeper penetration. He pulled his hand free.

“You will receive pleasure at my command only, Jinan.” Then more quietly, “Unless you remove the veil for our last night together.”

“You know I cannot.”

Lord Rothburn stood and spun her around, putting his body flush to hers and aligning their pelvises. The jut of his cock was a firm demand against her belly. His bigger body engulfed hers, sending a driving, aching buzz to her clitoris, urging her to savor his potency, his virility, for the last time.

Instead, she placed her cheek to his pectoral muscle for a moment and inhaled his comforting, familiar scent. He never wore the cloying perfumes of the upper class. The scent of his musky, manly sweat acted stronger than any aphrodisiac she’d been exposed to. She pulled away and stood tall, held herself motionless and awaited his bidding.

His fingers brushed through the long tresses of brown hair that hung in a loose wave over her back. His breathing was deep and even, an indication he was in complete control of his desires, while she was not. Cupping her shoulders, he pulled down the vest that cinched under her breasts. The ties were already slack in the front, so it came off with a sharp tug. He stepped away, allowing the delicate silk cloth to fall between their bodies, and then crushed her breasts against his chest. All the air left her lungs with the motion. Fresh craving blazed through her veins hotter than cinders.

Gripping her hair tightly, he tilted her head back far enough that her neck arched and exposed the vulnerable skin beneath her chin. The stubble of his jaw continued its sweet assault against her, his tongue lashing out to taste her overheated flesh. Arms loose at her sides, she submitted to his touch. He would bring her pleasure despite any of his firm reproofs or actions stating otherwise.

His kindness was another of those blessings and curses all tumbled and knotted together, further confusing her feelings. She wished he had been cruel or demeaning at least once in their time together. It would have made parting from him that much easier.

“Kneel on the divan,” he commanded as he stepped away to strip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. She loved the play of muscle under the blond tangle of hair on his chest. That hair trailed downward, inviting a woman to explore. Her fingers stretched in perfect memory of what it was like to take him in hand.

“Jinan,” he reprimanded when she continued to stare.

She sauntered to the divan, complying with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Pulling the silk scarves behind her, she faced him and kneeled, spreading her knees wide, buttocks resting on her heels. Wrists held out, she waited for him to bind her. He tied his neckcloth tight around both her wrists, lifting her arms above her head where a pole with hooks was installed into the wall.

He pulled down on the material to make sure she was secure and caressed the length of her arm reverently, her body bowed toward his. To her disappointment, he stood at the edge of the divan, his gaze following the stroke of his hand. Despite the warm breeze that came through the low window, her nipples puckered with his gentle touch.