Lord of Desire

by Nicole Jordan

  "She is evil, lord!" Zohra finally cried, pointing at Alysson.

  "She is an innocent, and here at my command!"

  "She has bewitched you! She is not one of us! You have made her your woman and betrayed your own people. The djinns of madness have seized you."

  "Enough!" Jafar's roar echoed resoundingly in the suddenly quiet courtyard. He pointed at Zohra. "You, woman, are no longer welcome here in my home, in this village! Be gone at once, before I banish you from this province entirely."

  Zohra's tirade ceased abruptly as apparently she realized she had vastly overstepped the bounds. Her mouth half- open, she stared at Jafar, looking aghast. "Forgive me, lord, for my heedless tongue . . . I meant no disrespect."

  "I will not repeat myself," he warned softly, in a deadly voice.

  His implacability must have sunk in, for after a long agonized look, Zohra began backing away. Yet when she reached a safe distance—the arched passageway that led to the street—she halted. Clenching her fists, she spat on the ground. "I curse her!" Zohra cried with vehemence, raising her voice so that the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard could hear every word. "I curse the saiyid's infidel woman! May the evil eye look down upon her and destroy all she holds dear!" Then she spun on her slippered heel and fled.

  In the ensuing silence, Alysson found herself shaking—and not just because of Zohra's venom. Rather, because she had again come between Jafar and his tribe.

  She sent him an imploring glance and found him watching her. "I'm sorry, Jafar," she said with regret. "I did not mean to cause trouble for you."

  "You are in no way to blame," he retorted grimly.

  Breaking contact with Alysson's gaze, Jafar sent the Berber sorceress away with a sharp command, then dismissed his retainers and supplicants with an impatient wave of his hand . . . all except for Mahmoud. Instead he beckoned to the young servant. "Instruct Saful to prepare the falcons and ready the lady's mount," he ordered before turning back to Alysson. "You will accompany me on the hunt." At her quizzical look, Jafar raised a golden eyebrow. "You once expressed a desire to hunt, did you not?"

  "Yes, but . . . you needn't feel obliged to take me—"

  "One day, Ehuresh," he interrupted, "you will learn that I do as I wish. And at the moment I wish to make amends for the distasteful way you have been treated in my home." Suddenly his savage expression softened and he smiled, a tender, exquisitely sensual smile. "Now go and change your clothing, chérie, for something more appropriate for riding."

  Alysson hesitated only a moment before turning to do his bidding. After days of being allowed only "women's" activities, she longed to escape the strict confines of her gender.

  As she ran upstairs to change, anticipation curled inside her at the promised pleasure of hunting and the greater pleasure of enjoying Jafar's company for a few hours. And for the time being she was even able to banish her disturbing thoughts of Jafar's impending impeachment and the stark foreboding that Zohra had managed to create with her sorcery and her accusations of betrayal.

  Chapter 21

  It was a day always to remember, an intimate moment to be stored away and cherished, to be drawn out when youth had gone and the lonely years of old age were upon her.

  The sun was bright, the fall air crisp and mingled with the scent of warm horseflesh and the sharp fragrance of cedars. The hunting party was small. Leaving the greyhounds behind, Jafar took only three servants, his falconer, several of his hawks, and Alysson.

  She gave a good account of herself. She'd been hawking numerous times before with her Uncle Oliver, and so had no trouble earning Jafar's admiration.

  Just as he earned hers.

  It was a pleasure simply to watch him, to be near him. As in everything he did, Jafar brought with him his vitality and cool magnetism. The sight of him on his fiery Barb, with a proud, golden-eyed falcon sitting on his wrist, was magnificent to behold. Even more so than the picture of the falcon spreading its wings and soaring, or attacking with talons stretched as it plummeted after small prey and game birds.

  Jafar apparently still believed she had led a sheltered life, though, for when they entered a forest of holm oaks and discovered telltale bristles on some of the tree trunks, he commanded Alysson to keep behind him. When shortly they came upon a black boar, Jafar brought it down in one shot, with a bullet positioned behind the ear. Only a Berber could have placed a bullet so well from the saddle, Alysson reflected, marveling.

  It was only later, when Jafar sent his adherents home without him, that she realized he hadn't brought her along merely to hunt. Her heart started to race. He smiled at her then, a smile of pure sensuality, and led her mount further from civilization.

  Shortly they topped a rocky hillock and descended into a rugged glen, where oleanders, brambles, and hawthorns choked each other in wild confusion, and a bright, pure fountain gushed from the rocks to tumble far below into a small pool.

  "How beautiful!" Alysson breathed, seeing the rippling threads of silver that marked the path of the waterfall.

  "Yes," Jafar replied in a low voice. At the husky tone, she turned her head to find him regarding her intently, his eyes smoldering like hot gold. She began to tremble, while her heart beat with the heavy thud of anticipation.

  Without another word, he dismounted and came to her side, helping her down. Then, holding her hand, he led her up the rocky incline to a shallow cave half-hidden by a thicket.

  The rock was warm from the sun, Alysson noted in one part of her dazed mind. The rest of her attention was occupied in watching Jafar. With an economy of motion, he spread his burnous on the hard ground and tossed his turban aside. When he turned back to her, sunlight beamed down on him, gilt-glittering a thousand blond threads of his hair and intensifying the smoldering ardor in his jeweled eyes.

  "Will you deny me now, Ehuresh?" he asked simply, quiedy.

  Alysson knew her answer was written in her own eyes; she could no more have denied him than she could have denied her next breath. Just now it didn't matter if she was only his captive and Gervase his prisoner. Just now she couldn't think of the past or the future, of guilt or betrayal, of right or wrong.

  There was only this man, this moment, this feeling of heat and hunger and need.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath as he read her expression, and only had time to whisper “Jafar'' in a breathless plea before he dragged her into his arms and kissed her with such devouring hunger that she felt giddy.

  His mouth was hot, his tongue fiercely thrusting as he pulled her haik back from her face to give him better access.

  His kiss was savage and unrelenting, desperate, yet strangely Alysson understood that desperation. She felt it herself. She ached to be touched, possessed, filled.

  She returned Jafar's embrace with a violence that matched his own, and heard him groan at her response. His arms wrapped tightly around her, forcing her closer, crushing her in a hold that should have hurt but didn't. She could feel the need that shuddered through his body, feel his violent heartbeat merge with hers, feel the heavy, rigid length of his arousal grinding against her.

  Wanton pleasure coursed through her. Feverishly she strained to get closer, molding herself against him, her fingers digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders. Hunger was too tame a word for the wildness she was feeling. She hadn't known hunger until now, had never felt this kind of raw need—mindless, relentless, endless. A primitive ache so deep her body throbbed.

  Breathing raggedly, Jafar finally dragged his mouth away, but his fingers tangled roughly in her hair, holding her face captive. "Do you know how I've longed to do this?" he whispered hoarsely, "how much I've ached to have you?"

  "Yes," she rasped. "I've wanted it, also."

  Her answer was all Jafar needed.

  He wasn't gentle as he tore at her clothes, stripping away her haik and tunic and the loose pantaloons she'd worn for riding, shoving up the sheer chemise till her breasts were bared to his mouth. With a rough sound of passio
n, he bent her back over his arm and feasted, his burning lips attending each nipple till it tightened with pleasure so intense it was painful.

  "Jafar . . . please . . ." she begged.

  He raised his head, heeding her urgent plea. His eyes were fiercely primitive as he divested her of the chemise, then swiftly lifted her in his arms and laid her naked on the makeshift bed. Kneeling beside her, he ripped off his dagger and tunic, but was too impatient to remove his pantaloons. Instead, he joined Alysson on the cave floor, laying his full length against her as his hard mouth covered hers. His tongue plunged deeply while his fingers sought the feminine recess between her thighs. She was all honey, primed for him with a damp, lusciously ready warmth. With a soft groan, Jafar freed his throbbing shaft and pulled her beneath his fully aroused body, his muscled thighs spreading hers wide.

  Alysson felt his heaviness, his heat between her legs . . . the swollen flesh, hot and satin-smooth, pressing for entry. Joyously she opened to him, whimpering as he filled her, tears of pleasure welling in her eyes. The hard, pulsing length of him was like a huge fiery spear piercing her, invading her with a white-hot heat. Desperately she wrapped her legs around his flanks, her fingers clutching blindly at his shoulders.

  He thrust deeper, burying his rigid fullness as far as possible inside her. The soft, frantic sounds of passion she made deep in her throat nearly drove Jafar mad. Lifting her hips with both hands, he surged into her again, claiming her triumphantly. The burning ache in his loins after the long days and nights of restraint, of being unable to touch her or caress her or drown himself in her silken heat was too great to bear. His body blazed with the maddening need to possess.

  His rasping breath choked words against her mouth as he began driving hard, rhythmically into her. Alysson sobbed in awe.

  Slowly, Jafar tried to command himself—to no avail. His blood was raging totally out of control. Alysson had often called him savage, and just now he felt that way . . . savage and warlike. But she responded with equal fervor, her hips answering his wild rhythm, mating with his.

  Frantic with need, she writhed and arched and strained, trying to match his erratic, uncontrollable pounding. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open as he took her, her nails digging mindlessly into his muscled back.

  Then it began, the wrenching, tearing, exquisite release. He heard her frenzied cries, felt her convulsive shudders moments before his own body contracted in hard, racking tremors. Against her open mouth he gave a hoarse shout as with a violent hot pulsing, he poured himself endlessly into her.

  He was insensate for many moments while the shudders stilled, as the heavy, sharp-edged need dulled. Finally, he became aware of the chill afternoon breeze wafting against his sweat-slick skin, and that he was crashing Alysson's slender form beneath him.

  Slowly, weakly, he dragged himself off her and, nestling her close against him, wrapped them both in his burnous. Her contented sigh echoed the emotion in his heart.

  For a long, quiet interval they lay there unmoving, with heartbeats mingling. Jafar absently stroked her bare hip with a casual finger, the same touch that had moments before turned her into a wanton now gentle and caring.

  After a time, Alysson slowly opened her eyes to watch the flutes of the waterfall at the edge of the cave entrance. She was aware of an enveloping feeling of warmth, a tenderness as devastating as the wild loving had been.

  Unable to help herself, she turned her face to him and pressed her lips against the warm skin of his shoulder. She tasted the salty taste of arousal and satisfaction that lingered on.

  "Did you know that you make love to me in English?" she murmured, lifting her curious gaze to Jafar's.

  A lazy smile filled his eyes, turning them to sunlit amber. "Do I?"

  "Mmmm . . . always. I never consciously realized it until now."

  Drawing back slightly, he surveyed her flushed, tousled beauty with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "I expect I get carried away when I am with you, Ehuresh."

  Alysson very much would have liked to believe she affected Jafar enough to make him lose his rigid control. "This morning . . . I understood some of what Zohra said when she accused me of bewitching you," Alysson mused, her tone a bit hesitant. "She called me your woman."

  In response, Jafar closed his eyes. He was not pleased that she had brought up Zohra, yet he was too sated to be annoyed. And in fact, the thought of Alysson being jealous of his past affairs was distinctly gratifying.

  "Am I your woman, Jafar?"

  A curiously passionless frown crossed his face as he reflected on her question. For some time now, he'd known that in many ways Alysson was a kindred spirit, as isolated by fate as he was. But only this morning had he come to realize another truth. The aloneness that had been such an integral part of his existence since the death of his beloved parents faded whenever Alysson was near. She filled an emptiness in his life that he'd never acknowledged until now. As he'd stood there shaking with fury at Zohra's machinations, he'd finally understood the possessiveness he felt for Alysson. He wanted the right to protect her, to share her love, her future. He wanted to father her children. He wanted to become the center of her universe, the way he feared she had become the center of his.

  But no man could take those rights. They had to be given freely.

  "If you were truly my woman," he answered quietly, cryptically, "you would not want to leave here."

  "What does that mean?" She searched his face. "Do you expect me to say I want to be your captive?"

  Jafar sighed. It meant that she would have to make the choice to stay, that he wanted her to come to him willingly, of her own volition. But so far Alysson had shown no indication that she wanted to remain here with him.

  When he didn't reply, Alysson bit her lip, still tender from his savage kisses. "Tahar told me that you must marry a noblewoman from another tribe."

  "Yes." He sighed again. "I have no alternative but to marry for political reasons. It is my duty as amghar to strengthen my tribe's alliances through marriage."

  "Oh."

  The quiet disappointment he thought he'd heard in her voice made Jafar's heart skip a hopeful beat. But perhaps he was reading too much into her tone. Even strong evidence of a woman's jealousy did not mean she held any deeper feelings. Feelings such as love.

  Jafar's jaw tightened. In truth, how could Alysson learn to love him after all he'd done to her? He'd seduced her, taken her innocence. He'd shamelessly tried to rouse her desire and make her forget her love for another man. In the first goal at least he'd been successful. He had a certain power over her, he knew. One that went beyond their captor- captive relationship. The attraction between them, the desire, was too strong for her to deny or resist. Her presence here in his arms just now proved that.

  But while he could compel her desire, he couldn't force her love. She might be drawn to him for the moment. She might be unable to deny the fierce physical attraction between them. But desire was a fleeting, insubstantial basis upon which to build a future.

  As for her question, he could not make her his "woman." She would never remain here as his concubine. And he would not insult her by asking it of her.

  But what of marriage? His religion allowed him to take up to four wives, and yet he knew Alysson well enough to realize she would never be content with second place.

  And he could not offer more. His first wife would of necessity come from a neighboring tribe. He could not put his own wishes, his own needs, ahead of his people's.

  Nor could he in good conscience ask Alysson to spend the rest Of her life here, with him, in this savage land. Merely the idea was impossible. What could he offer her but war and strife? What future besides a lifetime sentence in a strange land, amid a strange culture? Even if he could wed her, there was every possibility that he might be killed in the war. And what then? She would be cut off from all she held dear.

  No, the truth was, she would be better off without him, among her own kind, with a man who could offer her a safe,
secure future.

  With Gervase de Bourmont.

  Involuntarily, possessively, Jafar tightened his hold on Alysson. The thought of his blood enemy taking what he'd just been given, of any other man enjoying the intensely satisfying ecstasy of making love to her, of unleashing the fascinating energy in her sweet body, the delicious warmth, made Jafar's blood boil. But he had to face that eventuality. He had to force himself to view the circumstances unemotionally.

  It was in his power to determine Alysson's fate. He could keep her here indefinitely as his prisoner, or he could give her her freedom. He could put her happiness before his own. He could allow her a future with the man she professed to love. He could send her back to Gervase de Bourmont.

  There was little standing in the way now. Yesterday he'd received a message from his chief lieutenant Farhat, reporting that the negotiations with the French government were proceeding satisfactorily. The exchange of prisoners would soon go forth. Once that occurred, there would be no compelling reason to keep Alysson and her uncle as a bargaining advantage.