by Sabrina York
She pulled the robe more tightly around her, wincing as the lace scraped against suddenly throbbing nipples.
What was it about him, she wondered, that could make her ache like this, with naught but a glance?
“You look…” His voice went ragged and he paused, letting his focus linger on shadowed recesses. “You look astounding. Did you sleep well?”
She flushed. “Yes.”
He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet then shoved his fists into the pockets of his breeches…which drew her attention to his lower body.
Oh dear. Another mistake. For there, between the twin lumps of his fists, was that other lump. Even as she stared, it grew. A sinuous snake eased its way up his stomach.
It took some effort but she managed to fix her gaze elsewhere. Where that was, she couldn’t have said because the vision of him was burned on her brain.
“I’m sorry about last night, Aimalee,” he said.
Her gaze snapped back to his. Remorse etched his features. Aimalee frowned. He was sorry?
She wasn’t sure what to think about that.
As strange and unfamiliar and mindboggling as their coupling had been, it had been, without a doubt, the most amazing experience of her life.
And he was sorry.
She tendered a small, noncommittal nod, recoiling as she always did to some safe, scarred place within. But his next words arrested her headlong retreat.
“I’m usually able to show more restraint. Don’t leap upon a woman the first instant I see her. But you are so…so…” He gestured at her, caressing her from afar. Thick lashes flickered with some deep, inexplicable emotion. “And it’s been so long.” His expression shuttered but she caught a glimpse of the pain, the passion, haunting him.
Aimalee swallowed. “How-how long has it been?”
“A long time. Longer than you can imagine.” He took her arm and led her back to the atrium, carefully closing the door of the mirror room behind him. “Next time it will be better. I promise.”
Better? Aimalee gaped at him.
Was that even possible?
“Now that the worst of it has been released, I’ll be more patient. Next time I will take care of your needs first.”
Aimalee yanked her arm from his grasp and whirled on him. A multitude of conflicting thoughts and emotions warred within her. Delight, anticipation, indignation, confusion, the ghosts of bone-deep disappointments past and so many more.
Indignation won.
“Okay, hold on, buster.” She propped her fists on her hips and glared at him. “What makes you think there will even be a next time? Damn it all, I don’t even know your name.”
He put his broad palm to his chest and gave a formal bow. “I am Keeshan.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and struggled not to be charmed by the gesture or his smile, which released an explosion of dimples on his cheek. Or the lazy droop of long-lashed lids over velvet brown eyes. Really. It was hardly fair that a man should have such long lashes and those glorious dimples.
“That was hardly my point. I don’t know where you come from, K-Keeshan.” Heavens. His name was like honey on her tongue. “But where I come from, women don’t just leap into bed with every…” she gestured in his general direction and bit her lip to keep from saying gorgeous or handsome or delicious or any of a hundred other adjectives that leapt to mind. “With every man who shows a modicum of interest.”
“Oh, I have more than a modicum.” He arched a brow. “I assure you.”
Aimalee snorted. “Again, not the point. Women like me just… We just don’t.”
He shot her a sympathetic glance and shook his head. “You won’t be able to help it, Aimalee. The magic is too strong. It has a hold of both of us.”
Magic?
Ridiculous. Aimalee didn’t believe in magic. She was a scientist. The only things that mattered were things she could touch and feel and… Her logic stuttered at the fact that she could touch and feel him.
No. This had to be a dream. As real as it felt, it had to be a construct of her imagination. Nothing more.
It was unnatural to want like this.
Unnatural to ache like this.
Unnatural to lose every vestige of control like this.
At least for her.
But the magic—or whatever it was—was at work again. Already, after mere minutes in his presence, an uncontrollable hunger began to stir in her womb. A hunger that liquefied her, rode her. Sparked little fires within that fizzled and popped and snapped like fireworks along her nerve endings.
His innocent touch on her arm made her burn. Fantasies of what she would like to do with him, to him, filtered into her muddled brain. Quite independently of conscious thought, she reached for him…
“But that has to wait. You must be hungry.”
Oh. Why that wash of disappointment?
Then again… She was hungry.
He opened one of the other doors, next to the room with the mirror. It was lit, like the other, with an unseen, unearthly source. In the center sat a low, long table, laden with food. The aroma rose to greet her and she nearly swooned. Every food she could imagine lay spread out before her. A sumptuous feast.
Oh, it was definitely a dream.
“Oh my,” she gushed, spotting one tantalizing dish after the other, all her favorites. Shrimp scampi and medallions of beef in a steaming, savory sauce. A huge chunk of blue cheese sat on a platter with crackers and a wide variety of plump fruits. A carafe of chilled champagne stood in the center of the table next to a pitcher of ice water, beaded with sweat.
Oh. And there was cheesecake.
“Whatever you desire.” He swept out an arm in invitation.
Honestly. She didn’t know where to start.
She figured it out though and in the end she took a little of everything.
He sat beside her on the cushions as she ate, a large, looming presence, amused by her enthusiasm. He didn’t touch the food. He tried a bit of this and a bit of that but insisted she feed him. When she asked why she had to place each morsel in his mouth, he merely said that was the way it was.
At first the intimacy was a bit uncomfortable for Aimalee but she quickly warmed to it, to him. For as her belly filled, another hunger swelled within her.
Time seemed to slow. The lighting dimmed. Muted music, ancient tunes in zither and lute, drifted through the intimate chamber. The touch of his lips dampened her fingers, the curl of his tongue tickled her palm.
And the meal became a seduction.
The only question was—who was seducing whom?
Chapter Four
Keeshan watched, entranced as Aimalee explored the banquet table laden with all manner of strange delicacies conjured by the lamp.
He’d spent a lot of time before the mirror, watching the world change without him, studying the nuances and the trends…and the food. But it was difficult to assimilate without real experience. His visitors allowed him to explore some of it. A glimpse of the new tastes, the flavor of an era, but it wasn’t the same as living it. He longed to be free. To live his life in real time. To know.
Through the millennia, he’d learned to enjoy the slivers the lamp allowed. And yes, he relished them. Each and every minute.
He bit his lip when she discovered yet another one of her favorite treats and gave a little cry of delight. He shifted on the satin pillow as a shaft of unadulterated lust snaked through him. Ah, that she would cry like that for a taste of him.
And what was it about this woman?
He was always beset with mind-numbing arousal when the lamp brought him a new consort—what man would not be inflamed after a hundred years of abstinence?—but this excitement, this sense of connection was something new.
And it wasn’t just that she had all the physical attributes he preferred—long, silky blonde hair, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, lush, tempting curves. No, there was more. She had an aura of innocence about her he found irresistible.
W
hen she perched up on her knees and stretched across the table for a small bowl of fluffy white froth, it was all he could do to keep his hands fisted in his lap and not reach for the exquisite globes of her rounded bottom. She had no idea how alluring she was. He wasn’t sure if this delighted him or frustrated him. Perhaps a little of both.
He wanted her. He wanted her with an intensity that frightened him.
Annoyance that she was devoted to another man roiled in his gut. Such jealousy had never plagued him before. Not like this. Knowing Aimalee loved Carter—that tormented him to the depths of his being.
Especially since he knew the truth about Carter.
A truth Aimalee didn’t know.
He toyed with the idea of revealing what he had seen in the mirror but then thrust the thought away. He didn’t want to distract her with the world outside this bower. And he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to see her cry.
The truth about Carter would make her cry.
“Whipped cream!” She flashed him a disarming grin. “You have to try this.” And then, by all the gods, she dipped her finger into the bowl, scooped out some of the froth and lifted it to his lips.
Keeshan stilled. Every ort of his being. Slowly, he parted his lips and licked. Taste exploded on his tongue. The delicious cream, to be sure, but the captivating essence of Aimalee as well. He held her gaze and suckled gently, savoring the feel of her in his mouth, her tang, her spice. There was something about her that called him on a deep and primal level. Something about this passion that transcended the tawdry spell compelling him to want every woman the lamp brought to him.
It was as though the voice of his own true soul—so long enchained—was speaking to him. Recognizing a kindred spirit.
He knew it, felt it, when his desire, his ache, took her too. He saw it in the shadow of her eyes. They widened as he nibbled upon her flesh. Her pupils dilated. Nostrils flared. Lips parted. Skin dewed.
By all the gods.
Keeshan had had hundreds of women in his life. He’d lost count long ago. But he hadn’t known a desire like this, a movement like this since…
In far, far too long.
The thought alarmed him because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that when it was her time to leave, when the lamp so commanded, she would be gone in an instant.
If he were a sane man, a free man, he would walk away now and be done with her. He would not allow himself to touch her and warm to her. He would not allow these sentiments for her to sprout and grow.
But it was a moot point. He was not a free man. And many days, he doubted he was sane. He was stuck here in this damn lamp for all eternity, doomed to a life of endless, meaningless seductions. And she was stuck here right beside him until the lamp was done with her.
And then she would leave.
She would stay with him until he fell irrevocably in love with her. Then she would stay a little longer just to torment him. And then she would leave.
They always did.
It always happened that way.
It might take a month. Sometimes six. But they always left.
He didn’t know how much more his soul, his heart could take.
The first one, the lovely Desiree, had by far been the worst. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t suspected the torment in store for him.
He’d resisted falling in love with her, swamped with guilt. For how could he love her? How could he care for Desiree when another held his heart—and always would?
But the enchantment had not allowed him to be distant. He’d been compelled to be with her, be in her. And as time had passed, he’d slowly allowed himself to be drawn to her beauty, her aura, her laugh. He’d allowed himself to fall for her.
And then she’d left.
He’d been devastated. Utterly alone.
It had been like losing Circe all over again.
For two thousand years, each visit had been the same. Each woman, as different as they had been, had eventually conquered his heart. Eventually left him.
Oh, he’d tried to resist. Made vows to himself to remain distant and cold. Tried desperately to not use the incantation. But it had never worked. He always failed.
He always succumbed to the allure of the incantation.
He always came to love them…and then been shuttled into a cold, empty agony when they left. Bereft and swamped with shame for his weakness. His faithlessness.
And now here was Aimalee.
He suspected, deep in his soul, she would be the most difficult loss of all.
Still, he could not stop himself.
The enchantment rode him mercilessly, swirled through his body, pooling in his loins.
Even though he knew she held his destruction in the palm of her hand, he tugged her closer and took her lips.
So supple. So delectable.
Hunger growing, he nudged them wider and dabbed with his questing tongue. Her mouth was a cavern of velvet delight. He explored her teeth and her inner lip, danced inside her cheek.
She resisted at first but then relaxed into the kiss and a shaft of bone-deep satisfaction lashed him. It was only the enchantment—he knew this to be true—but she did want him. At least a little. He could be satisfied with that.
His lips left her mouth and followed the curve of her cheek to her earlobe. When he sucked it into his mouth, she arched into him with a warbled cry. So he did it again with similar results. He growled in pleasure and nestled his nose in her neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh there, delighting in the moans his kisses elicited.
With a supreme effort, he resisted the growing urge to inscribe the incantation on her neck. It was heaven to be like this, with her in his arms, writhing in passion, wanting him.
Wanting him for him.
It was a foolish whim but he desperately wanted her to make love with him because she wanted to. Not because she was compelled to do so. And while the sortilege of the lamp might cause desire to run rampant, it was the incantation that compelled her to have him.
Without the incantation, she had a choice.
And he wanted her to choose him.
He stared at her, beguiled by her beauty, the curve of her cheek. His heart ached with wanting. He had watched her through the mirror, wanted her from afar for so long. And now here she was. And she was so much more than he had ever imagined.
He pressed her back on the cushions, delighted that she allowed it, settling himself against her body, glorying in her warmth, her welcome. Cupping her glorious breast, he teased her nipple. She moaned and he slipped beneath the lace, desperate to feel her skin. She didn’t stop him, thank the gods, so he yanked at the ribbon holding the robe closed and eased the filmy garment out of his way to bare one side.
And ah. Ah!
Her creamy breast rose above her rib like a satin mountain. He stroked the silky flesh in circles, coming closer and closer, tighter, zeroing in on that budding crest. She whimpered, a wild, throaty sound, which unleashed the ferocious beast inside him.
He could wait no longer and bent his head, sucking her ruched nipple into his mouth. She gasped and her hand drifted up to rest at his nape. When he sucked again, her nails dug deep, pinned him, held him there. She wriggled against him, pressing into his throbbing cock. A blinding snarl of need raced through him. Scorched him.
“Ah, Aimalee. Aimalee,” he murmured. “I was hoping it would be you.”
Beneath him, she stilled. He felt it, the wall that came slamming down.
Ah hell.
She drew back—creating a terrible chill between them—and frowned at him. Her lips quivered as she searched for words. “W-what do you mean?” When he didn’t respond she punched him on the shoulder, the mere bat of a kitten’s paw against a stone. “What do you mean, you were hoping it would be me?”
His pulse skittered. He should have kept his mouth shut. He toyed with the idea of quickly scrawling the incantation against her neck to distract her from his blunder but he thought better of the idea.
He’
d already used the incantation once with her. It was easy to rationalize after decades of abstinence. But it was impossible to rationalize now.
But gods, he ached for her.
In body and in soul.
He forced himself to meet her glare. It seared right through him. The flicker of confusion was bad enough. But then there was the wounded mien. As though he had betrayed her. Lied to her. Tricked her.
Which he had.
Heat prickled at his nape.
“I knew it would be one of you.” He had to look away. Her gaze was way too sharp. “I hoped it would be you.”
“One of us?”
“You and the other one.” He made a swirling motion over his head. “The one with the hair?”
“Sorcha?” Aimalee’s adorable nose wrinkled. “You could see us? How could you see us?”
“Through the mirror. It is a window to the outer world. It shows me the women who are destined to come to me.”
“To…come to you?” Was that a drowsy, aroused expression on her face? Or horror? Her swanlike throat undulated as she swallowed. “How many women have…come to you like this?”
Keeshan shrugged. Really, he didn’t remember. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to talk about this at all. He kissed her instead, luxuriating in the taste of her lush lips. “I am glad it was you.”
But her response was cold. Distant. She ducked away and huffed as though she didn’t believe him.
How on earth could she not believe him?
He combed the silky skeins of her hair, traced his way down her shoulder, her arm, to the tips of her fingers, captivated by the creamy velvet of her skin.
She shivered, her beautiful eyes limned with doubt and a lifetime of pain. “Sorcha is much prettier.”
Sorcha? His brow furrowed. Was she serious? Sorcha was cold. Brittle. Hard. Whereas Aimalee… He cupped an ample breast. So smooth. So supple. Gods! Her nipple was hard, swollen. He could practically taste her arousal. “She does not compare. You are…”