"No, you won't," Alysson retorted at once. He would not hurt her, she was certain. A soft smile curved her mouth as she remembered his tenderness when she had been so ill. No, he would never purposely hurt her.
Jafar saw her smile and raised an eyebrow. "You are taking my displeasure very lightly.''
Alysson lowered her eyes demurely, but it was an expression that was patently false. With casual ease, her fingers lifted to his muscular arm, to trace the scar that her bullet had left when she'd wounded him. "And you are taking mine lightly. Just remember, if I ever have the opportunity to shoot you again, I do not intend to miss."
He laughed softly. "Now that sounds more like my tigress, scratching and spitting . . . whenever she is not purring in my arms." The smug male confidence in his voice was laced with pride, which pricked her own.
"Tigress . . . Ehuresh . . . the names you choose for me are hardly flattering."
Jafar turned slowly in her arms to face her fully. "Is it flattering endearments you want then? How about Rose of Dawn? Or Pearl of Desire?"
His tone was so charming that it could melt stone; Alysson wanted both to laugh and to hit him for dismissing her concern so easily. "I might be impressed if you meant them," she returned wryly.
"Ah, but I do." The look on his face was one of uncompromising masculinity mixed with the ruthless amusement that she was coming to know. "You are a star of paradise, a sultan's treasure—"
"Lover," she inteijected with a stab of honesty.
His expression slowly lost its amused look. "Yes, lover."
Her thoughts sobered as well as she realized how much she wanted to be Jafar's lover. He was magnificently, undeniably male. A beautiful savage man with a core of gentleness. And yet there was still a harsh reality that kept them from being true lovers.
"And captive," she added softly to the names he had given her.
Jafar stared a moment, then shook his head slowly, his seriousness fading. "Not today, Ehuresh. Today I am yours to command."
"Is that so?" she replied skeptically.
"Indeed it is."
The possibilities caught her imagination. She stared at him thoughtfully. "I think I would find it immensely satisfying if you were my captive."
He smiled then, a slow sexual smile that burned right through her. “Very well, I shall be your slave for the afternoon, chérie," he agreed gallantly.
Alysson was not fooled by the peaceful handsome face, or this unusual show of servility. But she was woman enough to be goaded by his offer. She gave him a bold, direct look, her eyes clear, filled with challenge and desire. "You still have on some of your clothes," she observed in a provocative, commanding tone. "Take them off. I want to see you."
He hesitated only a second before obeying. With a graceful shrug, Jafar untangled himself from her arms and the burnous and sat up to remove his boots. Then, rising, he shed his pantaloons.
Alysson couldn't keep from staring at Jafar as he stood over her, feet planted slightiy apart. He was ruthless strength and lithe elegance, and just looking at him made her feel breathless and wild. Ungovernably, the soft heat of her gaze drifted upward over his hard muscular body, traveling along the long elegant stretch of his legs with their golden sun color, to the hard jutting arousal that was the blatant evidence of his desire.
"You see what you do to me, my jewel?" he remarked with hard-edged amusement. "How you make me ache?"
She was startled to see Jafar reach down to hold that swelling sex in his hand, to see his tanned fingers curl around his engorged shaft, around pale skin flushed with red. She was even more startled by his next scandalous comment. "Would you like to ache, too? Do you want to feel this inside you?"
Alysson caught her breath, shocked by the fierce desire that ripped through her at his question. Slowly she lifted her gaze to Jafar's lean, intense face. His features were heavy and drugged with passion.
Their eyes merged, hers hazy, his hot. Alysson shivered at the naked hunger in those heated golden eyes.
Still trapping her gaze, he came to her again, lying beside her and propping himself up on one elbow. Slowly he pushed the burnous aside to bare her naked body.
"I am yours to command, lover," Jafar repeated, his voice a husky rasp. "Tell me what you want."
"Kiss me," Alysson whispered, hardly able to speak.
He sighed as if well-pleased and sank his mouth onto hers. Feverishly her arms closed around him, but soon her hands were roving the heat of his skin, searching, exploring . . . his chest . . . his taut belly . . . his groin. She made him draw a sharp breath as her curious fingers curved over the pulsing crest of his manhood. For a long moment she enjoyed the sensation of touching him wherever she wanted to, until with a soft curse, Jafar grasped her wrists and pinned her arms above her head with one hand.
He held her immobile, making a mockery of his invitation to enslave him, but Alysson was beyond caring who was captive or captor. This dizzying, lazy seduction was all she could focus on.
His lips rubbed hers languorously, delicately sipping. Then plundered in a series of long drugging kisses. Then finally moved down her throat to lavish attention on her breasts.