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It was unthinkable that innocent Eve Doremus of Boston would be forced to parade her naked beauty in a Barbary Coast slave mart. Or that the blond giant who guarded the Sultan’s female chattels would be a U.S. Marine lieutenant. Yet anything was possible in exotic, violent, 19th Century Tripoli.
Amid the love-making, intrigues and tortures of the Pasha’s pagan court, Eve and her marine—Stephen Fletcher—fell in love. But their romance was destined to face every temptation and peril as they loved and battled their way to freedom.
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Sinan ibn Ajaj was a big man, with a shaven head from which hung a black topknot wrapped with golden threads. His red vest, trimmed with gold brocade, enclosed a massive chest and paunch. Fletcher had the feeling that his bulk was deceiving. There was muscle under all that lard, his thick arms were proof enough of that. His fleshy face was creased now in a disapproving scowl, as he let his small black eyes run over Fletcher. He walked around him, his frown deepening.
The bald Turk grumbled at him. “You look well enough for a nasrany. Big, and thick in the shoulders. Plenty of room for solid muscle, once we put some meat and rice in your belly.” His hand slapped hard at the muscles ridging the American’s torso. He grinned, “That cus-cus will help you fight off any true believers who come slipping into the harem quarters at night. And don’t believe they won’t come, some time. Not to make love to the little kalfas, but to slip cold steel into Yussuf himself.”
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