Protector of the Flame Read Online Free PDF

you back to Morocco and we’ll spend as long as you like.”
    “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. Once you accept your call to serve, I doubt we’ll be able to spend as much time as I’d like anywhere other than at House Herut.”
    He didn’t deny it, only wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
    Her temples throbbed. Dull cramps twisted in her lower abdomen. There was absolutely no way she’d allow jetlag and PMS to ruin the few precious days of their honeymoon. She rolled down the window despite the heat and dust.
    Fresh air tickled her skin, giving a burst of rejuvenation.
    Winding roads led past mountain streams and colored rock cliffs with dizzying vistas to a luxurious fortress set in the foothills.
    Cyrus helped her from the car and up the steps to the massive wooden front doors.
    The owner, wearing brightly colored silks, welcomed them with a gracious smile. Rose petals were strewn down a wide marble hall and attendants handed them cool drinks of fruit-infused water. A typical check-in would’ve been beneath Cyrus who never did anything in an ordinary manner.
    “As instructed, the entire south and west sections have been reserved for your party’s exclusive use for the evening. It’s a shame you can’t stay with us longer,” said the owner.
    “We have a very tight schedule.”
    “A pity.” The owner led them down a corridor lined with paintings worthy of showcase in a museum and outside through a garden. “The tent suites here are for your guests.” He eyed the warriors with trepidation.
    A row of eleven tents formed a half circle facing the soft golden sky as the sun set behind an awe-inspiring mountain landscape. A glimpse inside revealed luxurious accommodations complete with living room.
    “Wow, if the others get this, where are we staying?” Serenity asked.
    “We’ve created something special as requested by your husband.” The owner extended a sweeping arm toward a slope that led to a massive tent of olive green silk.
    “Thank you. Please arrange to have dinner brought down to us.”
    Motion sickness from the curving roads on the drive up had curdled her already delicate stomach. Eating much of anything was doubtful.
    “Certainly,” the owner said.
    She wrapped her hand around her kabashem’s extended arm and watched her step along the stone path to their tent. At the entrance, Cyrus held back a section of fabric.
    Inside, an Arabian Nights fairytale came to life. Soft light from candelabras, glowing votives and an ornate chandelier suffused the tent suitable for royalty. A large bed with a silk spread dominated one side of the main area, Persian rugs covered the floor, and a lounge area with plush pillows on the floor and what appeared to be a four-foot bong completed the living area.
    She spun, gaping at the magical tent.
    “Do you like it?”
    “What’s not to like? I love it. Now all I need is someplace to wash off the day’s dust.”
    He drew back yet another curtain, sly smile spreading across his savagely masculine features. Steam rose from the water of a deep soaker tub large enough for two.
    Cyrus drew her into his body and she ran her hands up his chest. He tilted her chin and closed the distance between their lips. His energy stream lapped at hers. Heat fluttered in luscious waves as his tongue entered her mouth. One of his strong hands pressed between her shoulder blades and moved up her spine, gripping the nape of her neck. The other glided down her cashmere dress and grasped her buttock. His cock stirred against her pelvis and hardened.
    Making love to him was always the sweetest escape. Even now she longed to lose herself in his muscular body, in his masculine scent. But whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw was the unearthly necklace crawling into her skin.
    She shuddered and pulled away.
    “What is it?”
    As she removed her sweater, she turned her back to him. “I just need to feel clean.”
    For a long moment he said nothing. She felt the heat of his