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Lisa Torquay - The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

Lisa Torquay - The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

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Published by Lisa Torquay

Lady Lucinda Lancefield is visiting her former school mate in Sicily, on a so dreamed of trip before she chooses an insipidly suitable suitor to get married, as her parents wish. While there, she meets explosively attractive, irritatingly arrogant Tariq Al-Fadih. Suddenly, she's abducted and swept away to the desert with the scoundrel himself. And it proves increasingly difficult to resist the fiery sensations he stokes in her. Tariq is focused on his tasks at hand in Sicily, as a wealthy merchant, when a blisteringly rebellious English lady crosses his path. He's on a quest for atonement against an ex-associate, planning to abduct his daughter to achieve that. But his men make a mistake and bring that infuriatingly beautiful woman instead. As they cross the desert, Tariq is less and less capable of resisting her allures, as passion threatens to burst, sending his cares to the desert winds.

Lady Lucinda Lancefield is visiting her former school mate in Sicily, on a so dreamed of trip before she chooses an insipidly suitable suitor to get married, as her parents wish. While there, she meets explosively attractive, irritatingly arrogant Tariq Al-Fadih. Suddenly, she's abducted and swept away to the desert with the scoundrel himself. And it proves increasingly difficult to resist the fiery sensations he stokes in her. Tariq is focused on his tasks at hand in Sicily, as a wealthy merchant, when a blisteringly rebellious English lady crosses his path. He's on a quest for atonement against an ex-associate, planning to abduct his daughter to achieve that. But his men make a mistake and bring that infuriatingly beautiful woman instead. As they cross the desert, Tariq is less and less capable of resisting her allures, as passion threatens to burst, sending his cares to the desert winds.

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Published by: Lisa Torquay on Feb 02, 2013
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09/11/2015

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She reached London with her maid in a watery sunshine luncheon time. She climbed the stair to her
room in a light pink day dress. Well, now it was a matter of following through with what she must

do. Soon she’d have to talk to her mother.

In her room, Megan undid her baggage, as she sat by the window, looking at the garden, her eyes
absent. Her memory replayed the last week so vividly it became hard to believe it over.

Tariq hadn’t wasted any time. Before dawn he’d gotten up, taken his belongings and ridden his Arab
stallion to London, with Aziz. He had a house to find and rent.

Still in Tunis, he had received a letter from Pietro Graziani, apologizing and willing to make amends.
So he’d sailed his ship to Syracuse and met the old man. He’d given up the idea of demanding a
payment for the losses Graziani had caused him in the past. Now he needed something else. He’d
asked for a recommendation letter to one of Pietro’s acquaintances in London. With that, he’d be
able to go into society and to rent a house in the city. He’d build connections, they’d be useful, he
reckoned. Due to his European tutors, he had a notion of the mechanics of their culture. Thus, he’d
sailed his ship north impatiently.

Thanks to his strategy, by mid-afternoon he was comfortably installed in a house in the same fancy
neighbourhood as the Lancefields. He stood at the balcony of his bedroom and regarded the park.
Yes, right. Comfortably could be a matter of discussion, he much more preferred rugs and cushions
and low-platform beds, richly adorned by fine silk curtains and…and her.

If someone had told him he’d cross half a hemisphere to a cold and wet land as that because of a
woman, he’d have laughed out loud at their faces. But she wasn’t any woman. She was Lucinda, his
Princess of the Desert. His most inadequately perfect match. In every possible way. Without her he

felt like a…carcass, a shadow of himself. Her defiance and determination brought spice to his life.
Away from her he… Blast! He fell in love with the woman! There was no denying it! These mad
feelings that dilacerated his heart could only be love. He hadn’t even realised it. Damn it! He thought
he’d been immune to it, being this so foreign a concept. But he found himself wrong. He didn’t have
immunity against it and now she’d crept into his blood, his heart, his mind. He was lost! They were.
Because he wouldn’t give her up. Ever!

Then it hit him why he craved her with so much despair. By physical contact with her he expressed
his love. It’d been a carnal act, as much as a manifestation of his feelings. When he was with her it
felt as if all of him got consumed, assuaged. Dissolved.

He turned from the window, as Aziz came in with the correspondence.

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The Duchess of Gosforth’s annual ball stood as the highest event of the season. Everybody who was
anybody would attend. Naturally, the Lancefields had received an invitation.

The Earl and the Countess arrived with Lucinda, her siblings being still underage. Lucinda had chosen
a dark green velvet evening gown that contrasted with her ivory skin and gave a special spark to her
eyes. She climbed up the entrance steps bracing herself to a deadly boring night. Little seemed to
appeal to her these days, except… But that, him, had to be left behind. She’d have to get prepared to
the tasteless life she’d never wanted. Starting with this ball was as good as any other occasion.

As soon as she joined the multitude of people, Olivia Wilmington came to meet her all giggles and
secrets. Olivia had been one of her school mates, together with Adriana. “Come, Lucinda! I want you
to meet someone.” She hooked her arm to Lucinda’s and walked to where her parents, Baron and
Baroness Wilmington, stood.

Coming closer, the group opened and in its middle Tariq. A ball of fire bombarded Lucinda’s heart.
Would she ever get some peace? She needed to forget the impossible man! It was too late to back

now. He’d seen her and his cognac eyes burned on her as if they touched her very skin.

“Oh, my dear Lucinda.” Olivia’s father greeted her. “Come meet Mr Tariq Al-Fadih!”

She blushed, her mind numbed with his presence. She managed to curtsy. “Mr Al-Fadih.” Her voice
came all too breathy for her taste. She wanted to punch him and ravish him at the same time. The
man was a strategist!

Without taking his eyes from her, he bowed. “London seems to be full of delicate flowers.” He

flattered refined in his silky accented tone that felt like warm honey on her skin. The other women in
the group looked at him starred-eyes. Lucinda had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. So
he made an impression on the ton. She didn’t have anything to do with it, but something acid spread
inside her, and she prayed it wasn’t jealousy with the reaction of the other women.

Some more pleasantries exchanged and Lord Wilmington took Tariq to be introduced elsewhere.

Olivia turned to her exhilarated. “We have a barbarian among us today! I couldn’t believe when he
came to our house with a letter of recommendation from Adriana’s father!” She giggled some more.

Lucinda still tried to recompose herself and could barely speak.

“Imagine him taking me to his exotic land to live in a tent, or wherever they live in!” Olivia sighed
dreamy. “How romantic it’d be!”

Lucinda wondered what her friend would say if she revealed that she’d been to his country and seen
the desert and his home and that they’d… Oh, no! Don’t go there! She couldn’t reveal anything,
naturally. If possible, she’d say that reality came in much less romantic colours.

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They headed to the ballroom, as crowded as anywhere, where the orchestra played. A gentleman
invited Olivia to dance and Lucinda stood there watching the couples swirl on the dance floor. As a
waltz commenced, she smelled his sandalwood scent before she saw him.

“Lady Lucinda.” His formality didn’t lessen the effect his voice had on her. “Would you give me the
privilege of this dance?” He extended his hand to her. Touching a woman in public would feel
awkward every time he did it, because it was so different from the uses in his country. But this

presented a unique chance to be near her and he’d grab it.

Was the man crazy? Lucinda thought indignant. Didn’t he know they would be playing with fire? If
they so much as crossed eyes, they ignited, if they touched they’d incandesce! Her heart jumped,
her skin felt feverish. But she had to accept the dance invitation or she’d incur in unforgivable
rudeness, as he very well knew. So she curtsied, plastered a smile on her face and offered him her
gloved hand.

Tariq would never get used to women’s squeezing in ungraceful English attire, but he had to admit
that she looked beautiful tonight. He could only think of taking her to his rented house, snatching off
her dress and have her all night. He had been aware that if they touched they could lose control. The
temptation seemed too great though, he thought as he took her in his arms and they twirled around
the ballroom in a haze of enchantment.

They moved as if in a cloud floating with the tune, her head bent back, his bent down, their eyes
locked, their expressions captivated. The multitudes of people vanished and only they remained
enveloped in the waltz. Lucinda’s heart flooded of a melting sentiment that overtook her mind and
her body altogether.

Suddenly the waltz ended and they had to descend from heaven. Lucinda blinked several times,
trying to find lucidity in her fogged mind. She curtsied blindly and turned to look for some
refreshment.

Tariq felt no better. Touching her took him off balance and made him want more, all. As he left the
dance floor, Lord Wilmington came to introduce him to more people, whose names he’d never
remember.

Lucinda gulped down her refreshment and rushed to the ladies’ in search of some respite. And got
none, obviously. The girls were abuzz with the barbarian, weaving all kinds of comments and
fantasies that enraged her to no end! The only solution was to leave their blabber.

She walked back to the ball, intending to find Olivia, but her eyes spotted Tariq talking to one of the
most beautiful widows London had already produced. Beautiful and full of affairs. Wheat blond hair,
slim, sky blue eyes, and meaningful glances at him. She stood too close to him, touching him with
her fan at every tiny opportunity. A massive attack of jealousy fell on her. Her stomach churned and
she started feeling sick. She needed some fresh air. Now! She rushed through the throngs of people
to the double doors, pale and trembling.

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Tariq would never understand why someone would think this woman beautiful. She had the
strangest and most unbecoming colouring and too pale skin. It seemed to him unnatural and
unappealing. The woman openly flirted with him. He liked to be the hunter and that’s why Lucinda
excited him to combustion; she made him chase her round the globe. He saw Lucinda pass by, her
behaviour uncharacteristic. He happily excused himself and followed her.

Lucinda had her hands on the parapet, head bent down, breathing hard. She tried to abate nausea
and her foreign feelings. Someone approached, sandalwood scent coming first. He placed his hands
on her upper arms.

The moment he touched her, her malaise was replaced by a rush of hot contempt and she turned to

him, eyes darting fury. “What are you doing here?”

He searched her with his darkened cognac eyes. “Checking if you are feeling well.”

“As you see, I am.” She answered brusquely. “Now you may go back to your flirtatious blonde!” She

turned her back to him again, trying to hide her feelings and regretting her outburst.

He laced her waist, leaning hotly on her back. “You’re jealous, my jewel.” He whispered in her ear,
causing her skin to tickle all over. He didn’t disguise his satisfaction at the fact. He grazed her neck
up and down, his sensuous lips turning her on like a torch.

“Of course not!” She denied the undeniable. Her voice came hoarse and seductive

Then he pulled her tighter, as his eager erection nested between them. “Can you feel it, Lucinda?”
He breathed in her ear. “It comes for you. Only you!” He nipped the curve of her neck and her head
fell on his shoulder, giving him more access. “The idea of touching another woman disgusts me.” His

hand cupped her breast on the velvet fabric of her green dress. She gasped and arched more for
him.

Touching her made him as fiery as she; he didn’t bear the idea of spending the night away from her.
He needed her as he’d never needed any woman in his entire life. “Come to me tonight, Lucinda.”
He murmured with urgency. “I’ll send a carriage.” His other hand delineated her pert hips and thighs
over the impending fabric, as she sighed with yearning.

If they were discovered there, it’d be an un-mendable scandal, she thought, and reality crashed back
on her. With extreme difficulty, she put distance between them. “Unfeasible.” Her voice hardened
by her determination. “This is London; everybody watches closely what everyone’s doing.” She
looked up at him regretfully, his head bent down, cognac eyes intent on hers. “We cannot be seen
here.” She tore her eyes from him. “Excuse me.”

After that, she danced with anyone who asked, in a foolish attempt to forget his tantalizing
invitation and not to let her mind fantasise how it’d be to lie down in his bed and let him pleasure
her as he always did so skilfully.

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As predictably usual, sleep eluded her that night, her body burned for him and she imagined herself
walking the dark streets bare foot just to find relief in his arms.

Tariq had watched her leave the ballroom’s terrace and then counted every milk-sop that held her in
a dance, wanting to shout to whoever would listen that she was his alone. He went home in a state
of frustration. It took all his will power not to go to her house, climb her window and sate the both
of them. His mood next morning was the foulest possible.

Next morning Lucinda got up after a badly slept night populated by steaming dreams about him.
Having finished her breakfast, she concluded that if she stayed home, she’d go mad with frustration.
She felt trapped and feverish. She decided to take a stroll at Oxford Street, maybe buy a ribbon or
two. She called for the carriage, dressed a cream day dress and left her house. She’d go alone, the
ride was safe enough, there being a big probability of her meeting acquaintances there.

Lacy gloves in her hand, she entered the carriage distractedly, as it started with a nudge. It’d take
about fifteen minutes to get there, so she leaned back and watched the streets pass by her window.
In less than five minute’s ride, the carriage turned in a driveway and stopped by a strange door, as
she started to put on her gloves. She was about to ask her driver what the matter was, when Aziz
opened the door and gestured for her to step down. Gloves forgotten, she stared at him quizzically.

“Aziz!” Her brow pleated at the strange situation. “What’s happening?” She asked in Italian, as he
didn’t speak English.

At that moment, Aziz walked away, Tariq appeared at the door and extended his hand to her. “Just a
little change of plans, Lady Lucinda.” An ironic smile in his appetizing lips.

“How dare you do this?” She hissed, her temper flaring. “Where is my driver?”

“We gave him a little respite for the day and Aziz will park your carriage wherever you were heading
to, so that it’ll be seen by anyone of import.” Since she hadn’t moved, he came in.

She flushed at his manipulation and crossed her arms, unmovable. “I’m not staying here. I’m going
to Oxford Street, so close the door and get lost!” She didn’t care he didn’t like her giving him orders.

The stubborn, wilful woman liked this foreplay, didn’t she, Tariq thought exasperated. “You’ll do as I
wish!” Their eyes met and battled, neither willing to give in. “You have five seconds to come down or
I’ll go get you!”

“Not even in five days.” She said in between teeth.

“Five, four, three.” The more she resisted, the more aroused he got.

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Lisa Torquay The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

She lifted her chin and remained seated. Her heart pounded full force. She wanted to come down
and walk to his house, his arms. But his arrogance went sky high if he thought he could just take her
carriage and bring her here. “Ok, I see you can count backwards.” In a bored voice, she put on a
show of not caring what came next.

“Two, one.” He took her hand and made her come out of the bloody carriage and inside the house,
holding her, so that she wouldn’t leave. He didn’t need to be brusque, her muscles had already given
in to the force of his attraction and her body went to him against her own will.

He motioned to Aziz, who climbed up the carriage and started driving away. Aziz made a face
signalling he thought a rebel woman wasn’t worth lingering on. Even less one that could shoot. He
finally shrugged and followed his orders.

Lucinda’s blood boiled with a mix of anger and arousal, the later making her feel pliant in his arms.
“How many times will I have to tell you that we cannot meet?” Her fists clenched on his chest as he
struggled to close the door behind her, lest they be seen. “Stop abducting me!” She commanded to
his further irritation.

He stared hard at her with his fiery cognac eyes. “And how many times will I have to tell you that I’ll
continue seeing you?” His edgy velvety voice almost undoing her. “And this is not abduction,
unfortunately! You’ll go back to your family’s house in due time.” Unfortunately again, he thought.

He caught her in his arms and took her to his bedroom upstairs, resisting her fierce thrashing. Damn
woman! There, he kicked the door shut, his body so hard in his breeches he wanted to take her
against the door itself. Her feet found the floor though, and walked.

The decoration in dark blue shades was very masculine. The fire glowed in the fireplace, the curtains
drawn; a dim intimate atmosphere involved them.

He saw her stride hard feet to the fireplace and turn pepper-mint green eyes darting vexation at
him. Unable to wait a second longer, he literally pounced at her, laced her narrow waist and his
mouth plundered hers in a searing kiss. Taken by surprise, her hands rested on his muscled chest
over his open-necked shirt; her body catching fire, their tongues sparring thirsty. She moaned, her
head bending back to meet his lips, and her hands found his sleek obsidian hair, they’d missed so
much. She devolved kiss for steamy kiss, devouring him as much as he devoured her.

His hand flew to her hair, plucking each pin, dropping them to the carpet, as her dried-dates hair
tumbled to her waist. He rolled her soft strands of hair around his fist and gently made her head
bend lower back. “Say you don’t want me, if you have the courage, Lucinda.” He groaned against her
swollen lips.

She had neither the courage, nor the will. Or the strength, for that matter. He body became a
complacent jelly against his strong one. Her sole answer was to tug his shirt out of his breeches as
her hands sneaked under it in search of his warm taut skin.

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“Just as I thought.” He murmured hotly, as his deft fingers unbuttoned her corset-less dress and it
bunched around her booted ankles. Her chemise followed and he lifted her, being circled by her
booted legs. Carrying her, they fell on his bed locked in a febrile embrace.

He tore her drawers impatiently, as her anxious hands opened his breeches’ fly. His fingers tested
her. She was readier than he and they breathed short and quick. He found his home in her, hot and
wet, as he drove long, deep and hungry. Her head fell back and she moaned and arched with the
melting pleasure of it. That was raw, savage, instinctive.

There was something erotic about her being completely naked and still wearing her boots, he
thought, as he lifted his head to look as she writhed in pleasure. The scent of her womanly skin
against his half-clothed body enticed him.

They were both on the edge. It wouldn’t last nearly as long as they’d like. She moved towards him,
taking him in desperately; he thrust hard and fast, blind with desire for her. Her booted legs
tightened their circle around his semi-clothed body, he held her under her back, head dipped in the
curve of her neck, in total lack of control. He thrust, she groaned; he thrust, she opened more for
him; he drove deeper, she tied him to her with her arms; he lunged, she clawed his shirt; he grunted,
she cried her pleasure, gripping him repeatedly. He thrust the deepest and let go of all he had as he
moved more and more, until completely emptied and spent.

He fell on her, breeches half lowered, shirt bunched up, bare feet, her booted feet on the back of his
legs. She held him fully cradled in her body, as they had no forces to speak or anything else. They
drifted into a doze, minds blown, desire sated.

Tariq opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. She was watching him attentive. “I’m hurting
you.” He said in a lazy voice.

“No, it’s alright.” She answered, still holding him.

But he disentangled from her delicately and moved to untie her boots one at a time. He made it feel
like he undressed her, denuding every inch as a revelation. As one boot slid from her ankle, his lips
followed it to her foot. Such a sensuous caress awoke her completely. He repeated the process with
the other boot, his stubble tickling her pale fine skin.

She repaid in kind as she undressed his shirt, grazing her lips throughout his muscled chest, feeling
the texture of his hair-dusted warm skin. Then it was his breeches’ turn, caressing his awakening
manhood at her leisure. Fooling around a bit was just as fine.

Tariq just wanted her to lie back against him and that’s what happened, as her hair spread

everywhere on his bed.

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Lisa Torquay The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

“How did you know I’d be leaving home?” She asked, her palm caressing his strong arm distractedly.

“I sent Aziz to watch.” He answered casually, his hand also hovering over her narrow waist and pert
hips.

“I didn’t stand a chance.” She concluded.

“Did you want to?” His lips caressed her shoulder.

“We won’t go there again, will we?” She sighed. “You know we have to stop this as much as I.”

“I can’t.” He said simply and it echoed her own feelings. “Do you want to hear about the hell of a
night I had?”

She didn’t need to; she knew exactly what he was talking about. “You have this wicked habit of
acting on your desires.” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “We British curb impulses we
consider wrong.”

“Poor repressed people.” He nipped her ear.

“It’s not a question of repression; it’s a question of doing what’s right!” She stated firmly.

“And what do you people have to show for when you get old?” He popped his head from the pillow
and directed his cognac eyes to her. “Do you feel satisfied with the life you led, on a balance?”

He had a point, she reckoned. Trying to do what was right begot a healthier society, but what about
the individual? Wouldn’t she have nostalgic memories of them when she got old? Didn’t she herself
deny regretting anything of what she’d been doing for the past few weeks a thousand times? Wasn’t
she collecting recollections for when she had to marry and live a lukewarm life? “The more we
do…this, more danger of falling pregnant I am in.” She replied instead.

“I admit we’re…working hard on it, yes.” His naturalness baffled her.

“And?”

“We elope, of course!” Actually, he expected exactly that. If she fell pregnant, she’d have no choice.
She’d have to have him and not marry some watery milk-sop of their bloody ton.

“Elope?” She asked in utter amazement. She imagined the reactions of the female population of the
ton. Lady Lucinda eloping with the barbarian to live romantically in a tent in the desert. Lucinda

wasn’t sure they wouldn’t line up for that kind of destiny. She’d be envied, to say the least. “You
must be crazy!” She completed, and so was she to even consider the possibility. She got up abruptly,
in a vain attempt to shake the tantalizing idea from her distorted thoughts.

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“You’re right. My desire for you drives me crazy!” Professing his love for her would make him weak
before her, he feared. His hands came under his obsidian-haired head on the pillow. He watched her
as she moved around his bedroom. Delicious. His body already reacted to her. He couldn’t live
without her, so he wouldn’t, he decided.

He talked about wanting and desire. And that was it, she mused. He had no feelings for her as a
person. He didn’t love her as she irrationally loved him. The thought saddened her. Lust would fade
with time. Even the most head-over-hills attached couple had to make their relationship progress
through maturing, beyond the urges of body and passion. Nothing stayed the same, growing up was
part of the process. She looked at him disheartened. She couldn’t love for the both of them, even if
the expression of his eyes made her hot inside right now. “I have to go.” It’s all she felt able to say at
that moment. Conflicting emotions played in the battlefield of her heart, urging her to find closure.

“Aziz will be here in an hour.” The information got her giddy. One hour of him in his bedroom was
self-control suicide.

Absent-mindedly, she crouched to pick up her clothes and collect her hair-pins. Tariq never quit
watching her and the view of her made him catch fire. He got up silently, walked to her and
crouched behind her, making their bodies encase in each other.

“Tariq.” She breathed as a wave of steam took her over.

He held her tightly and his hands seemed to be everywhere. On her breasts, at the core of her, while
his mouth hovered her neck, the curve of her shoulders, her upper arm, as he breathed quickly.
Such an attack on her senses rendered her weak and wanton.

“I need you again, Lucinda!” He muttered in her ear. “It’s a torment to stay away from you!” He
plunged in her, extracting a surprised moan of pleasure and they dived in their incandesced frenzy
all over again.

The unique way Tariq had of showing love was by touching her. A flash of thought cut through his as
he moved in her on the verge of explosion. Physical contact made him express what went inside.
Caressing, revelling, stroking her came as wrenching essential for him. That’s why he had this mad
necessity to be near her. Because he needed to assuage his love for her. The heat of her body on his
fulfilled that hunger to give and receive. And give. And give. His feelings for her. It seemed endless,
incomparable, immeasurable, so he had to keep on doing it. Or he’d die. Die from the lack of his
body on hers, in hers, with hers. Coherent conjectures vanished as he found his ultimate release in
her, and she in him.

Lucinda got home just before luncheon. She hoped she’d meet nobody as she climbed up to her
bedroom. She found herself in a feverish state of jumbled sentiments and needed some time alone.

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Lisa Torquay The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

“How was your trip to Oxford Street, my dear?” Lucinda froze on the act of climbing a step at her
mother’s voice.

“It was…revealing, mama.” She said without turning her flushed face to the older woman and rushed

up.

Her mother looked at her bewildered and shrugged as she went back to the drawing room.

Revealing, indeed, she thought as she shut the bedroom door with a thud and leaned on it, head
back. He pleasured her in the most innovative ways. A single thought of it got her blood to boil
anew.

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Lisa Torquay The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

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