"So I did." Jafar smiled briefly, his amber eyes holding hers. "Are you jealous of Zohra, my defiant tigress? Shall I send her away?"
There was amusement, even satisfaction, in his voice that grated fiercely on Alysson's nerves. It irked her that he could read her thoughts so easily, and that he could tease her about such a subject. "Are you sleeping with her?" she demanded, unable to bite back the question even though she dreaded the answer.
"No, Ehuresh." His response was swift and unequivocal.
"But you have done so before this."
Gently, to Alysson's consternation, Jafar raised a hand to her cheek. With a long lean finger he stroked the delicate line of her jaw, while his eyes took on a glint of passion. "Would it matter?"
The question was a mere breath of a murmur, a quiet, sensual whisper that sent Alysson's pulse rate soaring. Furious at herself for her uncontrollable reaction, she pulled back with an abrupt "No, of course not!" Less violently, then, she turned to look out over the valley. "It is a matter of supreme indifference to me what you do with her. I was simply curious, that is all."
Yet she wasn't simply curious, that was precisely the problem. She craved Jafar's touch, his possession—she who cherished freedom and independence. It frightened her at times, this powerful need she felt for him.
Even as the thought formed, she sensed his presence behind her, felt his warmth at her back as his hard arms caressingly encircled her waist. When he pressed a gentle kiss against her temple, the simple act of desire drove the breath from Alysson's lungs.
"I have missed having you in my arms at night, ma belle, sharing my bed."
She wet her suddenly dry lips. She had missed sleeping with him, too, more than she would ever have imagined.
“Come to me tonight, Ehuresh.''
"You . . ." She stopped to clear her throat. "You want me to come to your apartments?"
"Consider, chérie. If we mean to observe the proprieties, I cannot go to you. Not with your uncle so near, and your servant acting the valiant watchdog."
He was inviting her to his rooms, to his bed? Summoning her for his pleasure, the way he might summon one of his concubines? The way he would summon Zohra?
Riddled with agonizing fresh doubt, Alysson shut her eyes. Did Jafar see her only as another of his concubines? Did she mean nothing to him but physical gratification? The painful thought rekindled a fierce debate within her. How could she desire a man who kept her here against her will? How could she love a savage warlord who despised all foreigners? A man who had nearly caused Gervase's death, who still held him prisoner?
The remembrance sent a cold chill racing over her heated senses. How could she surrender to the ecstasy of Jafar's embrace when Gervase's fate was still so uncertain? And how could she leave herself so vulnerable? Jafar was a highly sensual man who found delight and gratification in a woman's body. He would take his pleasure of her and give her rapture in return—and leave her with more heartache than she could bear.
She had to put an end to their intimacy now, before she succumbed entirely to the hollow promise of passion. Before she totally lost the will to resist him. Before her heart became his captive, just as her physical self was.
"Have you forgotten that I have a fiancé?'' she whispered, almost as much to herself as to him.
She felt Jafar stiffen as if he'd been struck. Slowly, then, his arms fell away. He took a careful step back, releasing her.
Alysson could sense from the dangerous silence that he was struggling for control. By the time she found the courage to turn and glance up at him, a hard mask had descended over his features. And yet she knew she had to drive the knife deeper, if she was to have any hope of maintain her resolve.
"How much longer," she forced herself to ask, "will my uncle and I be your guests? Do you mean to keep us here indefinitely?"
She thought she must have imagined the dark flash of pain in Jafar's eyes, for a muscle worked violently in his jaw before he moved to the stone parapet, to stand looking out over his valley.
"I cannot release you just yet," Jafar said finally, in a voice that was barely audible over the rush of the waterfall.
"Why . . . why not?"
He gave a short, weary sigh. "Because at present I am engaged in negotiations with the French government for an exchange of war prisoners. Your being here allows me to deal from a greater position of strength. If I surrender that advantage, it could cost lives."
It was Alysson's turn to feel the knife. Jafar was using her, just as he had from the very first. Hed used her to lure the French army into battle, and now he was using her to strengthen his bargaining power with his enemies. That was all she meant to him, an advantage to be exploited.
Alysson dug her nails into her palms, till the pain in her hands overshadowed the pain she felt in her heart. She had made the right decision in refusing Jafar's invitation to share his bed. She might be wretchedly in love with him, but she was not yet so far gone as to allow him the use of her body in addition to everything else.
"Is Gervase one of the prisoners to be exchanged?" she asked finally.
There was a long pause before he nodded.
"Well then," Alysson said with an attempt at a smile, "I suppose I can endure being your 'guest' for a while longer. May we go in to dinner now?"