Lust Eternal

by Sabrina York

  Lust Eternal

  Sabrina York

  For thousands of years, Keeshan has waited. A curse put him in the lamp, damning him to an eternity of pleasing the women who find it. Each time, the women enter the lamp, ensnared in a web of lust and love. And each time, just as he grows to care, the women leave.

  But Aimalee is different somehow. With her, Keeshan’s desire knows no bounds—he needs to be with her, inside her, every second she’s there, like an addict who just can’t get enough. Eventually she’ll leave just like the others but until then, Keeshan plans to indulge her every sinful urge. And maybe, just maybe, she’s the key to breaking the curse.

  Inside Scoop: This paranormal romance features a plus-size heroine and a hero who worships her curves.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Lust Eternal

  Sabrina York

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Celeste Deveney, who refused to let me give up on Keeshan and Aimalee.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Carrie Jackson for her editing genius, making this book the best it could be, and to the Ellora’s Cave art department for an awesome cover. To all the Ellora’s Cave staff who work so hard to make these books shine, you are all amazing!

  My heartfelt appreciation to my fellow writers for their support. Especially Sidney Bristol, Monica Britt, Carmen Cook, Wendy Delaney, Delilah Devlin, Cerise DeLand, Tina Donahue, Natalie French, Desiree Holt, Kathy Klein, Gina Lamm and Chantilly White.

  To all my friends in the Greater Seattle Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink and Rose City Romance Writers groups, thank you for all your support and encouragement.

  Chapter One

  Aimalee gazed at the ancient artifacts arranged on the worktable and twin slashes of pleasure and pride washed through her. The depth of the stories these remnants embodied fascinated her. It was her charge to bring this mystery to the world, to make it live again.

  And tonight it would all happen. Tonight was the culmination of many years of research and hard work. This revelation would make her name in the antiquities world.

  Discovering a lost civilization tended to impress even the most jaded historian.

  These particular objects had been found on a dig in a desolate rocky valley in what once had been the great empire of Persia, mingled with typical remnants of the day. But these items were unlike anything she had seen before. Clearly not Persian, their style was far more exotic and the symbols were utterly unfamiliar. They sparked her curiosity and sent her fantasies running rampant. They were moldy old historical fantasies but fantasies nonetheless.

  She gently repositioned an exquisite ceremonial bowl, her gloved hand lovingly tracing the mysterious carvings on its lip. Lord. What she wouldn’t give to be able to decipher those symbols. While they weren’t cuneiform—at least any adaptations she had studied—they carried hints of Median and Assyrian influences. The odd thing was they also incorporated Sumerian cryptograms.

  Civilizations five thousand years apart on the timeline.

  Even so, what really caught her attention was the way the etchings seemed to shimmer, shift on the metal surface. She was sure it was simply an illusion but couldn’t keep herself from staring at them. Every item in her display was stamped with the delicate, enigmatic scrawl.

  Of all them, the lamp was her favorite. Something about it spoke to her. She picked it up, cradling it. She loved the weight, the breadth, the warmth of it. While it was not a particularly ornate creation—except for the whimsical dance of the spout—the design, the inscrutable inscriptions on the gleaming gold face, caught and held the eye. When she rubbed at a tiny smudge with her thumb, she could have sworn the lamp glowed in appreciation.

  But then she had always been a fey and fanciful creature.

  “There you are.”

  Aimalee tried not to cringe as a sharp voice, akin to a fireplace poker on a chalkboard, sliced through her sanctuary. It was difficult not to cringe. Sorcha. Lovely.

  “I should’ve known I’d find you here.”

  Aimalee set the ancient lamp onto the worktable and meticulously drew off her gloves before she turned. She needed to gird her loins before an interaction with Sorcha. She usually did.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like the museum’s public relations director. But Sorcha had an uncanny ability to make Aimalee feel uncomfortable in her own skin. Inadequate.

  Sorcha was everything Aimalee had always wanted to be but wasn’t. Tall, willowy and sophisticated. She wore only the highest fashion. Her shoes were sleek with impossible heels. Her hair and makeup were always flawless. Like a mannequin’s.

  Aimalee couldn’t tame her wayward curls if her life depended on it. And rare was the day she didn’t have three-thousand-year-old dust smudged across her cheek.

  She rubbed her palms on her faded, stained jeans and cleared her throat. “I’m always here.” Sometimes it seemed as though she lived in this musty basement. Then again, this was the only place she felt at home. And frankly she resented this intrusion, especially today.

  But she didn’t let it show. She never let it show. Never let anything show.

  Sorcha wrinkled a perfect button nose and scanned the cluttered room with a moue of distaste. “I don’t know how you can stand it. No windows. And…it smells.” Yes. It did smell. It smelled like history. It happened to be an aroma Aimalee loved. “I would hate being stuck down here.”

  Aimalee rubbed at the pulse throbbing in her temple. “Did you want something?”

  “Ah, yes.” Sorcha switched on her most brilliant gee-I-want-something-from-you smile. “Carter can’t find the appendix for your dissertation.”

  Aimalee frowned. “Why does he want that?” For heaven’s sake. Carter had never shown much interest in Aimalee’s research. In fact, for a museum director he exhibited a surprising indifference to history. Then again, when they were together he usually had other things on his mind.

  Sorcha shrugged one shoulder. She fiddled with a hair that had somehow come undone from her elaborately curled coif. “He’s meeting with the board, I guess. He probably wants to mention you.”

  That made sense. Naturally the board of directors would be interested in her recent discovery. When the findings were released to the journals there would be a huge hoopla in the antiquities community. And hoopla meant moola. The board was all about moola.

  “I have it on my computer.”

  “Hmm. And what’s the password?”

  Aimalee sighed. “Sorcha, I am not giving you my password.”

  “It’s for Carter.”

  As though that would make a difference. Aimalee’s computer was her life. Everything was on there. Everything that mattered anyway. “I can give it to him later.”

  “He wants it now.”

  Typical. Carter was always impulsive and impatient. Aimalee didn’t mind so much when they were in bed but the rest of the time his impetuosity was just annoying. Like now. Aimalee tolerated it because…well, because he was Carter. He was quite the catch. For someone like her. Handsome. Successful. And as the great-grandson of the famous Egyptologist Howard Carter—several times removed—he had a certain cachet in their world.

  Aimalee sighed. “I have a copy in my files.” She bent down to unlock her lateral files but didn’t miss Sorcha’s grimace. She riffled through her meticulously arranged documents and pulled out a thick folder. “Here it is.” The result of five years of intensive study.

  Sorcha hesitated before holding out an exquisitely manicured hand. “He wanted a soft copy.”

  “I can get that to him later.”

  “Really, Aimalee. What do you have to do that is so important you can’t just go up to your office and save it on a thumb dri
ve?” Ah. Now the real Sorcha began to emerge. That sweet bow-shaped lip curled into a nasty snarl and sharp green eyes snapped with annoyance. At any second, Aimalee expected several more heads to sprout from her neck and begin whipping around with slavering, snarling zeal. Like the Hydra.

  “I’m finishing up the Arabian Nights display. Remember? For tonight? Kinda important.” Aimalee glanced back at the table impatiently. She wanted to get back to work.

  Sorcha snorted and stuffed the precious sheaf of papers carelessly under her arm. Aimalee tried not to wince. “Sometimes I think you care more about these dusty old artifacts than you do about your boyfriend.”

  Aimalee froze, trying not to let her shock show. “My boyfriend?”

  Caught out, Sorcha flushed. Carter had insisted they keep their relationship secret because he was the museum director and she was a curator. Aimalee had always quietly resented the fact she could never stand by his side in the bright light of day—but she’d understood. She’d never told a soul.

  That meant only one thing.

  He had.

  And he’d told Sorcha.

  Acid churned in her gut.

  “W-what makes you think he’s my boyfriend?”

  “Oh please.” Sorcha arched a supercilious brow. “I notice everything.”

  Everything?

  There was nothing to notice. Carter was always careful about that. Meticulously careful. Painfully careful. He went out of his way to appear indifferent to her whenever they were in public. And sometimes when they weren’t.

  Aimalee picked up a clipboard and pretended to scan the sheet on top. “I have to get back to work. Did you want anything else?”

  “There was one other thing. Carter asked if you could, you know, not come tonight.”

  “Not come tonight?” Aimalee whirled around and gaped at Sorcha. She’d been working on this display for months, utterly devoted to this project for years. She’d been so looking forward to showing off her work, presenting her findings. She’d even bought a new dress for heaven’s sake.

  That happened, maybe, once a decade or so.

  “It’s going to be quite a crush. All the big benefactors will be there. And you are…” Sorcha made a scornful little flourish with slender fingers. Her expression said it all—mousy. Aimalee knew it to be true. She knew what she was. But having Sorcha point it out rankled.

  “This is my display.”

  “Sure. Do what you need to set it up but then make yourself scarce. Be out of there by seven. ’Kay?” Sorcha pinned on a dazzling smile. “I told him you’d understand.”

  With that she spun on her Jimmy Choos and waltzed from the room, elegantly swinging between boxes and crates and piles of books, leaving Aimalee sitting at her worktable, reeling with shock and repressed rage.

  Make yourself scarce.

  The mandate of her entire existence.

  The fuck she wasn’t coming tonight. She’d worked far too long, far too hard on her dissertation, on this presentation, to simply fade into the background now when it was all coming to fruition. This was her baby. Oh, she’d be there. Come hell or high water.

  Without thinking, without redonning her protective gloves—a monumental no-no in the museum world—Aimalee picked up the lamp and a cleaning cloth and began to polish her treasure. A deep sense of satisfaction and pleasure spiked through her, assuaging her annoyance.

  Okay, so her love life was more than a little disappointing and frustrating. And yes, her professional prospects were limited but at least she loved her work. Really loved her work…

  She renewed her invigorated scrubbing on that one smudge that just wouldn’t wipe away.

  Imagine the gall. Asking her to miss the night of her life so Sorcha could stand in the limelight at Carter’s side and reap the rewards.

  Aimalee rubbed harder and faster, fury rising like a chained beast in her belly. A red tide descended, blurring her vision. Everything beyond the lamp faded. The world beyond her passion, her work, dissolved.

  She’d had enough of this.

  Enough hiding her relationship.

  Enough elicit, hurried trysts.

  Enough secrets.

  Enough—

  Her movements slowed as a strange sensation crawled down her spine from her neck to her solar plexus. It pooled in her womb. Her fingers and toes began to tingle. Throb. Prickles of excitement and anticipation skittered over her skin. Her body warmed, softened, dampened.

  Her hand flew to her nape where gentle tendrils caressed her—like a lover’s whisper. The tingling increased and contracted and wafted inward to settle just below her pounding heart. Her essence condensed, coalesced, as light as smoke, wafting and roiling. A strange sense of unreality, of disengagement, overcame her. She closed her eyes and the dizzy sensation increased. She tried to open them again but couldn’t. She twisted, curled, floated in the ether. A great whooshing sensation rocked her consciousness, sucking her into a smaller and smaller space. A dark place.

  And then an eerie silence, a supreme stillness, descended.

  * * * * *

  Slowly, she came to herself. She glanced around in a befuddled daze and stilled. She was no longer in her familiar workroom but in a lavish boudoir, a seraglio swathed in gauzy, flowing drapes. Glowing braziers wreathed in aromatic smoke lit the room with a dim, somnambulant light. The velvet cushions she reclined upon teased her sensitive skin. With a start, she realized she was utterly naked. A shiver coursed through her. What on earth had happened? Where was she?

  But before she could work it out, a billow of iridescent fog roiled before her. Aimalee stared, transfixed as the cloud slowly coalesced into human form. A man.

  A very large man.

  She tipped back her head and their gazes met, clashed. His eyes glowed with a scorching fervor. A bolt of electricity shot through her.

  His features were stark, a savage beauty etched with a desperate hunger—high, striking cheekbones and wide, sensuous lips. Dark hair curled gently about his face and neck. A sudden desire to comb those silky skeins skittered through her.

  Aimalee swallowed heavily. Her avaricious attention trailed down across brown shoulders and powerful arms. His chest was bare and broad and ridged. It rippled at the mere touch of her gaze.

  He stood, legs slightly apart, bunching thighs taut as though he were about to spring forward but was holding himself back with great effort. Strength, power and passion rolled off him in waves.

  But for metal cuffs about his wrists and neck, he was naked.

  Oh. And he was aroused. Magnificently and tremendously aroused.

  The sight of his jutting, throbbing member made her heart clench. A strange heat pooled in her womb when she noticed the pearlescent drop glistening at the tip of his cock.

  He was, in a word, ready.

  Then again, so was she.

  And then he spoke—a deep, mellifluous voice that resonated straight through to her soul.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Aimalee,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you a very long time.”

  Chapter Two

  Aimalee leapt to her feet and grabbed one of the oversized cushions to cover her nakedness. She gaped at the enormous man in confusion. His words made no sense at all. At the same time, those words, that tone, their timbre, moved her in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend.

  They bespoke a sense of hunger, of passion, of desire—for her.

  In a world wreathed in apathy, she had never known the like. She had secretly yearned for a man to look at her like that. To speak to her with such leashed passion.

  But it had never happened.

  Not ever.

  This must be a dream, a hallucination brought on by the stress of the past months. Perhaps she’d finally snapped.

  How could this man have been waiting for her to come to him? She’d never seen him before in her life. And she’d never been so certain of anything. This was a man one remembered, cloaked as he was in an aura of power, of presence.

&n
bsp; He was taller and broader than any man she’d ever met and his body was corded with rippling muscles. His intensity should have frightened her—that of a warrior determined to conquer.

  An unexpected thrill trilled through her at the realization he was determined to conquer her. It made her feel small, fragile and inexplicably aroused.

  Aimalee had never been the kind of woman who wilted before a commanding man. She was independent and strong—she’d had to be. But this was different. This felt different. There was something about this man, something about this place that changed everything.

  Somehow she knew she could be strong with him and he would still want her.

  Nothing was more compelling to a woman than a desirable man who wanted her as she was. Passion like this was a powerful aphrodisiac. And oh how she felt it.

  He felt it too.

  “Touch me.” His whispered words echoed through the room, through her.

  Their gazes met and everything else melted away.

  He stared at her, trembling, teeth clenched, fists tight as though he longed to reach for her but couldn’t.

  Aimalee shivered as an unfamiliar inclination struck her. She wanted to drop the pillow and press her body against him. Rub against him. His body was so beautiful. So perfect. She longed to touch him.

  Of its own volition, her hand rose. At the last instant, just before their flesh connected, she curled her fingers.

  He winced as she withdrew, winced as though she’d slapped him. Tiny tears clung to his lashes. “Please, Aimalee.” His voice was ragged. “Please touch me.”

  She stepped away, ignoring the desolation that swept across his countenance. It cost her but she forced those primal urges down, back into her subconscious where they belonged. Something wasn’t right here. Women didn’t just suddenly transport into sumptuous bowers. Gorgeous men with smoldering eyes didn’t simply appear from thin air. And most importantly, Aimalee didn’t have thoughts like this.