Lord of Desire

She lay there rigidly, cursing him silently, trying not to quiver. She could feel the imprint of his hard body burning through her meager clothing, could smell his male scent. He smelled of horses and the desert wind . . . and something else, musky and pleasant. Something highly disturbing.

Dear God, she couldn't possibly go to sleep this way. Even as exhausted she was.

"I hope your wound is painful," Alysson declared, recovering her mettle. "Excruciatingly painful."

"It is, but I'll survive. Go to sleep, Ehuresh. "

She didn't understand the word, but she wasn't about to ask him what he meant. Still seething, Alysson wearily closed her eyes. Oh, how she hated him! It especially galled her that his warmth was so comforting, that he was protecting her from the cold. She didn't want his protection. She wanted nothing to do with him . . .

Tense and restless, Alysson lay awake for a long while, stiffening every time she felt the slightest movement from him. It was nearly an hour before Jafar felt her slender form relax in his arms. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, but she had finally fallen asleep.

Jafar permitted his vigilance to slacken while he tried to force his thoughts on something other than the young woman in his embrace. In all he was satisfied with the day. He had accomplished his purpose with little trouble. He had taken the woman of his enemy. And soon he would realize his ultimate objective. He had no doubt the colonel would come to rescue such a treasure.

Yes, a treasure. Jafar smiled in the darkness, remembering her claim that she was not a mere, female. No, Miss Alysson Vickery was definitely unique. And unpredictable. One moment a spitting tigress, the next a frightened dove.

The memory of her terror made his smile fade. He didn't like her fearing him. He did not want her recoiling from him in fright. He much preferred her defiancé—however annoying it might be, coming from a female. And that she possessed in full measure.

Ehuresh, he had called her in his language. Defiant one. She was defiant yet vulnerable. And quite, quite lovely. There was a wildness, a sense of daring about her, an intensity that was incredibly arousing. What would it be like to have that wildness unleashed in passion, in his bed?

The stallion snorted just then, making Jafar lift his head. Momentarily he searched the darkness with his keen gaze, but found the horses grazing peacefully.

With a sigh, Jafar let his head fall back. His wounded arm was throbbing, but it was nothing that he hadn't experienced a dozen times on the battlefield.

More severe, though, was another discomfort, the pain of having a lovely young woman in his arms—this lovely young woman—but not allowing himself to appease his male urges. Yet there was something elementally satisfying about holding her this way.

Without waking her, he shifted his body, nestling her more comfortably in his embrace. A mistake, he thought, feeling her soft, ripe breasts press against his chest, the innocent thrust of one slender knee as it insinuated itself between his thighs.

He closed his eyes as he vainly sought sleep.

Ah, yes, painful but satisfying.

Here, alone, with nothing but the stars and the wind and his defiant young captive.

Chapter 4

The east flushed rose and blue as Alysson stirred awake the next morning. Feeling the chill of dawn, she sleepily drew the burnous more tightly around her, vaguely missing the warmth that had sheltered her during the long night.

The jingle of metal intruded on her hazy, disquieting dreams. A moment later she suddenly became aware that she was alone beneath the burnous. Her eyes flew open. Her Berber captor, the ruthless barbarian who had called himself Jafar, was bridling the horses.

As if he felt her sudden scrutiny, he glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze. There was a shadow of golden- brown stubble on his jaw, Alysson noted, that gave his noble features a disreputable air. And he was eyeing her with a calm look that was no less dangerous for its lack of emotion.

Abruptly Alysson tore her gaze away, wanting to bury her head beneath the burnous. The memory of being forced to undress before his eyes brought fierce color to her cheeks and sent her temper surging. She was unaccustomed to having her will thwarted, but this devil had done everything in his power to frustrate her and to show her how helpless she was against him. She was also weary from lack of sleep after the wretched night she had just passed. She had started awake every hour, only to find herself locked in this stranger's embraee, his hard body molded against her soft one. His disturbing proximity had left her shaken, her emotions in a state of turmoil. It alarmed her, the effect this savage barbarian had on her. Never before had she been so unnerved by a man. Never before had she been so acutely aware of a man's maleness, or of her own femaleness.

Trying to forget that awareness and her humiliation—and to ignore the man who had caused both—Alysson rose silently and dressed. To her dismay she couldn't meet Jafar's eyes, although she was grateful when he allowed her, without comment, to move a short distance away for a few moments of privacy. She was less grateful when he offered her a piece of bread for breakfast, for his generosity did not extend to the goatskin water bag that hung from the stallion's saddle.

He was waiting for her to ask for a drink, she knew, but she didn't intend to give in. She would not beg him, nor would she obey his arrogant whims.

She was surprised to learn he intended for her to ride the mare, but decided it was because he wanted to spare his stallion, not because he cherished any newfound feelings of trust for her. When he would have helped her mount, though, Alysson recoiled, eyes flashing her loathing at his touch. "I can manage on my own!"

A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he said nothing.

Her temper simmering, Alysson pulled herself up on the mare. When he had gained his own saddle, they set out, with Jafar in the lead, in control of her reins. Alysson kept her gaze fixed on anything but him. She was determined to ignore her savage companion and his ridiculous demands that she do his bidding.

Her determination wavered when a few miles later they came upon another spring. Alysson watched with undisguised longing as Jafar watered the horses and filled the goatskin bag.

His penetrating glance, when he saw her licking her dry lips, was a pointed reminder that she had a choice. "You know the terms," he said calmly. "You have only to ask politely for a drink and agree to tend my wound, and you will be allowed to slake your thirst."

"I am not thirsty," Alysson lied.