Temple of the Winds

He liked to hear the tempered thread of sarcasm in her voice. She cloaked it well with a breathy tone, and others might have missed it, but he had been listening for it.

Carefully, slowly, one at a time, he placed four small gold coins on the washstand beside her. It was ten times what Silas Latherton, downstairs, charged for his women's company, and probably thirty times what he gave her for each man. She watched the coins as he withdrew his hand, as if counting them to herself to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was a great deal of money. She gave him a questioning look.

He liked the twitch of confusion in her eyes. Women like this weren't often confused by money, but she was young, and probably never had a man bestow such largess on her before. He liked it that it impressed her. He knew that few things would.

"I'd like you to enjoy yourself. I'm wiling to pay to see you enjoying yourself." "Darling, for that much, you'll remember my screams until you're an old man." Of that, he was sure.

She smiled her best smile, and slipped off the robe. Gazing at him with her big, sky-blue eyes, she blindly hung the robe on a peg in the back of the door.

She stroked his chest and then circled her arms around his waist. Gently but deliberately, she squashed her firm breasts against him.

"So what is it you want, darling? Some nice clawmarks down your back to make your young lady jealous?"

"No," he said. "No, I just want to see you enjoying it. You're so fair of face and figure. I think that if you're paid will enough, you'll enjoy your part, that's all. I want to know that you're enjoying yourself."

She eyed the coins and then smiled up at him. "Oh, I will, darling. I promise. I'm a very talented whore." "That was what I was hoping."

"I want you to be so pleased with my charms that you will want to return to my bed."

"You seem to be reading my mind." "My name is Rose," she whispered in her breathy voice. "A name as beautiful as you are." And as unoriginal. "And yours? What should I call you when you call on me regularly, as I'm already aching for you to do?"

"I like the name you've already given me. I like the sound of it on your lips." She licked her lips for him. "Glad to meet you, darling." He slipped a finger under the waist of her panties. "Can I have these?"

She ran her fingers down his belly, performing a moan at the feel of him. "It's the end of a long day. These aren't exactly. . clean. I have some clean ones in my trunk. For what you've paid, you can have as many of them as you wish. Darling, you can have them all, if you wish." "These will do fine. I only need these." She smirked up at him. "I see. Like that, is it?" He didn't answer.

"Why don't you take them off me," she teased. "Take your prize." "I'd like to watch you do it."

Without hesitation, she slipped them down her legs as dramatically as she could. She pressed herself up against him again and, looking into his eyes, stroked his cheek with her panties. She smiled wickedly and then pushed them into his hand.

"Here you go. Just for you, darling. Just the way you like them-with the scent of Rose."

He worked them in his fingers, feeling the warmth of her still in them. She stretched up to kiss him. If he hadn't known better, known what she was he might have thought she wanted him more than anything else in life. But he would please her.

"What do you want me to do for you?" she whispered. "Name it, and it's yours-and I don't make that offer to my other men. But I want you so badly. Anything. Just tell me."

He could smell the sweat of the other men on her. He could smell the stink of their lust on her.

"Let's just see how things work out, shall we. Rose?" "Anything you say, darling." She smiled dreamily. "Anything." She winked at him as she swept the four gold coins from the washstand. She swayed provocatively as she went to the small trunk. She squatted down before it. He had been wondering if she would squat, or bend at the waist. He was satisfied at the detail, at the remnant of a demure past.

As she pushed the coins under some of her clothes in the chest, he saw atop her things a small pillow decorated with a dash of red. Such a detail intrigued him. It seemed out of place.

"What's that?" he asked, knowing that the money had earned her indulgence. She held it up for him to see. It was small pillow, an item of decoration, a frivolity. It had a red rose embroidered on it.

"I made it, when I was younger. I staffed it with cedar shaving, so it would smell nice." She glided her fingers lovingly over the rose. "My namesake-a rose. For Rosa. My father named me. He was from Nicobarese. Rosa means 'rose' in his language. He always called me his little Rosa, and said that I grew in the garden of his heart."

The detail astonished him. He was thrilled to know something so intimate about her. He felt as if he already possessed her. The pleasure of knowing such a small, seemingly insignificant thing pounded through his veins.