She stared at him. "Don't you mean to wear a shirt?" When Jafar raised an eyebrow, she stammered, "I m-mean, you might get cold."
His smile was soft, amused. "How, when I have you to keep me warm?''
The faint blush that rose to her cheeks was charming, Jafar thought, despite the way her narrowed gray eyes were flashing sparks at him. Meeting her defiant gaze, Jafar felt his will clash with hers. "Are you afraid of me?"
That challenge made Alysson lift her chin obstinately. "No, of course not!" she declared.
But she was afraid. She didn't want to sleep with a half- naked savage, especially when she was so meagerly dressed herself. He hadn't returned even her breeches. She felt exposed and altogether too vulnerable as Jafar drew her down beside him on the burnous. Yet her temper rose when, like before, he tied their ankles together. Alysson stiffened in silent resistance as he gathered her in his arms and settled her with her back to him, her head resting on his uninjured arm.
To her surprise, he spread her damp tresses out so they would dry more quickly. The gesture was gentle and considerate, but Alysson lay there tense and rigid, held in the warm curve of his body, her cheek pressed against naked flesh. How she hated this! The man-smell of his skin, clean and pleasantly soap-scented, was highly unnerving.
Still, his embrace was warm and somehow comforting. At her back she could feel his heart beating in slow steady strokes.
Alysson gave a drowsy sigh. She was more fatigued than she thought . . .
It was early the next morning when she opened her eyes to find a pair of topaz ones gazing down into hers. Jafar, she thought groggily, a strange sense of peace and contentment filling her. For a moment, before her mind began to function, she could only wonder at that strange sensation. It was the same feeling of warmth and security that sometimes came to her in her dreams. How very odd. Odder still was the fragmented memory that teased at her brain. She couldn't shake the feeling of having met him before. He looked so familiar, except for the soft light of desire in his eyes. That was new-
Shock and dismay suddenly flooded through Alysson. Jafar was stretched out beside her, his head supported by his elbow as he gazed down at her. Apparently he'd been watching her sleep.
Before she could open her mouth to speak, he lifted a tress of her chestnut hair, now dry and silky, from her breast. "You should let it fall free, instead of pinning it up."
Faster than a frightened rabbit, Alysson pushed aside the edge of his burnous and scrambled to her feet. "I do not require your advice on how to arrange my hair!" Flustered, mortified, she stalked over to the stream, searching for the pins she had left there the previous evening.
"At least you don't torture it into ringlets."
"It is too difficult to arrange in ringlets," Alysson said through gritted teeth, trying to regain her composure. "I am frequently without a maid."
He lay there, lazily watching her. His appraisal acutely disturbed Alysson. To her disgust and dismay, her fingers were less than steady as she used them to comb out the tangles in her hair.
"When we reach my camp," Jafar said after a moment, "I will see that you are provided with combs."
Alysson gave him a cautious glance. His generosity didn't interest her as much as where he might be talking her. "Where is your camp?"
"Another day's ride from here, on the fringes of the desert." When she was silent, he raised an eyebrow at her. "You wanted to see the desert, did you not?"
"Not in your company!"
She saw his mouth tighten, but he didn't reply. Apparently the hostilities had resumed between them. Which was perfectly fine with her, Alysson reflected. She didn't like it when he was treating her with gentleness or tender concern. It was far easier to remember how she despised him when he was acting the uncivilized heathen.
To the best of her ability, Alysson finished combing her hair before repinning it into a knot at her nape. Then she went over to the pile of equipment and clothing. Searching for her own garments, she found her jacket and one of her boots.
She started to put them on but was startled when Jafar's hand suddenly closed over her wrist in a grip that was firm but not painful. She hadn't heard him move. Flinching, Alysson stared up at him in bewilderment. Did he mean to refuse to allow her to dress?
"In this country," Jafar said in a warning tone, "you must be more careful. We will soon reach the desert, and you will have to remain alert if you mean to survive. Check your clothing for scorpions and vipers each morning before you dress."
He didn't mean to keep her half-naked, Alysson thought as a trembling sense of relief surged through her. She would rather face an army of poisonous creatures than be subjected to his hard golden gaze when she was so very vulnerable.
Her relief was short-lived. Despite his generosity in allowing her to keep her clothes and the haik to shield her head and face, Alysson's feeling of vulnerability, of helplessness, only increased the further they traveled.
Shortly the grassy steppes changed to uneven, broken country of sand and stones dotted with camel-thorn and an occasional shrub. Any civilized person would call this barren land the desert, Alysson reflected, yet she knew it was only the forerunner of the Sahara.
A few hours later, when Jafar slowed the horses to a walk, she made herself pay attention to her surroundings. If she could discover where she was, she might be able to determine where he was taking her.
With more curiosity then she'd felt in two days, Alysson glanced around her. In the distance ahead were clumps of rocky plateaus overhanging the arid flats. "Where are we?" she asked, tr
ying to keep her tone casual.
Jafar didn't answer, preferring not to divulge that this was the Jebel Selat. He didn't want her to have any information that she might use to her advantage. "Why do you wish to know?"